


The 25 Days of Kiersey

by sincerelyreidburke (poindextears)



Series: Kiersey College OC-Verse [14]
Category: Kiersey College (Webseries), Original Work
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, Drabble Collection, Except when it's not, F/M, Family Feels, Fluff, Gen, Hanukkah, Holiday Collection, Holidays, Humor, Kiersey College, Kiersey Drama Club, Kiersey Men's Hockey, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Wow that's a tag!!!, a tasteful amount of angst, i love it, idk man, maybe some Kwanzaa? anything can happen, wholesome content, winter holidays
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:15:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 80,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27826648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poindextears/pseuds/sincerelyreidburke
Summary: Live from my tumblr, it's the 25 Days of Kiersey!In which I post a new piece of Kiersey College holiday content each day from December 1st through 25th. Some are text posts, some are fics, and some are other things— anything goes! Come on in and join the Kiersey holiday fun.Click here to learn more about my college OC-verse!
Relationships: Ben "Rhodey" Shaley/Cole Kolinsky, OMC & OMC, OMC/OFC, OMC/OMC, Reid Burke/Bri Cameron, Remy Tremblay & Kai Boudreaux, Sebastián "Nando" Hernandez/Quinn Cooper
Series: Kiersey College OC-Verse [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1878397
Comments: 45
Kudos: 47
Collections: Kiersey College





	1. jingle bell rock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 1 of 25, it's some terrible/wonderful Kiersey Drama Club shenanigans. This is a text post, cross-posted from my Tumblr!  
> [PROMPT: As your local fanfic prophet, I offer you words of wisdom: The kiersey theatre boys going the jingle bell rock dance from mean girls. You're welcome](https://sincerelyreidburke.tumblr.com/post/636320466549800960/as-your-local-fanfic-prophet-i-offer-you-words-of)

Interestingly, Percy, I’ve actually thought about this before. And you’ll have to forgive me, because I’m cheating slightly and it’s only the first day— what I’m about to describe to you doesn’t actually take place during the holiday season. But nonetheless, it is very much related to the holidays.

Come with me on this journey. (Long post under the cut!)

It’s Reid’s idea. Pretty much every terrible/wonderful thing that happens in the Kiersey Drama Club is Reid’s idea. Reid has actually been trying to get three other guys enlisted under his command to do this for the past several years, but he’s never been able to push his plans through…….. until one Quinn Cooper comes along.

So allow me to set the scene for you. Remember that variety show the drama club puts on every spring? [Yeah, that one](https://sincerelyreidburke.tumblr.com/post/619777135421292544/can-you-please-elaborate-on-nandos-gay-panic-over). Going into the spring semester of his senior year, Reid really wants to do something big and fun and obnoxious. He has tried, in vain, to get his three roommates to do this damn _Mean Girls_ dance routine with him, but a.) he’s the only one of them who actually does acting, and b.) Jhiron Hassan would not be caught dead doing a sexy Santa dance, and also c.) you can’t teach the unique lack of shame possessed by one Reid Burke.

So the short and the long of it is that Reid has never actually gotten the chance to live out one of his biggest meme performance fantasies. You should know that, as a general rule, Reid loves _Mean Girls_. Honestly, he has good taste.

By the way, if you don’t know what I’m referring to by “sexy Santa dance” and “that damn dance routine,” [please educate yourself at the following link](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3Dh81UOjlFmMs&t=NTUyYzI1NzJhMTI3YWM2YzdmMGQzY2YwNzczNTllNWY5NTA3YTJkMyx6WTBZcDJHNw%3D%3D&b=t%3Abyan2Hxjk8BnKxerWiaSQw&p=https%3A%2F%2Fsincerelyreidburke.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F636320466549800960%2Fas-your-local-fanfic-prophet-i-offer-you-words-of&m=1&ts=1606860131).

Anyway, going on. I _would_ have this take place at Christmas, but Reid never gets people to organize to his cause at the holidays. He’s always looking for three guys, and he can never get three. I also, for Kiersey-verse plot reasons, can’t have them do this in the winter of Reid’s senior year, because he doesn’t know Quinn well enough for it yet, and you’d be sorely mistaken if you thought I would leave Quinn out of this activity.

Going on for real this time.

In his senior spring musical, Reid observes a unique opportunity: he exists in a cast with exactly three other young, strapping men. (“Mel, isn’t it technically four? What about Spencer?” Spencer can choke.)

At some point as the spring musical season is coming to a close, and sign-ups for the variety show (which takes place during the last month or so of school) are rapidly approaching, Reid corners his castmates with a proposition.

> [ _Dear Evan Hansen_ dress rehearsal. Backstage, while Ezra is messing with light cues.]

> Reid: Gentlemen. Esteemed colleagues. Gather around.

> Danny: Reid.

> Reid: I have a mission to charge you with.

> Danny: I am ready to accept it.

> Quinn, who still has slight Freshman Syndrome, trying to fit in with the cool upperclassmen: Me, too!

> Reid: Sign-ups for the variety show are approaching.

> Cole, slightly concerned: Oh, no.

> Reid: Oh, yes, Cole. Fun fact: you have to listen to me, because I’m about to graduate, and every moment you spend with me is precious.

> Cole, picking his nail polish: That’s generous, but, uh, go on.

> Reid: (Tries to smack Cole’s arm.)

> Cole, in a monotone: Ow.

> Quinn: Wait, Reid, what’s your idea?

> Reid: I think you’re all gonna love it. :D

> Quinn:

> Danny:

> Reid: :D

> Cole: Uh….

> Cole: Do you plan on, like, telling us—

> Reid: Okay, okay! _Fuck_. I almost lost my train of thought. Anyway. Are you all familiar with the movie _Mean Girls_?

> Quinn: What kind of person isn’t familiar with that movie?

> Danny: It’s a premium film.

> Reid: I’m impressed, Danny. As resident straight boy, I thought you’d need the most education.

> Danny: What, so being straight means you can’t enjoy quality cinema?

> Cole, lying through his teeth: I’m straight and I like that movie.

> Cole: But what does that have to do with—

> (Cole begins to realize where this is going.)

> Cole: Oh.

> Reid: Well, there’s a scene in it—

> Cole: Oh, no.

> Reid: — at the Christmas pageant or whatever, where—

> (Quinn and Danny also catch on.)

> Quinn: Oh, my goodness.

> Danny: (Starts laughing.)

> Cole: I’m not doing that.

> Reid: Fuck off, Coley! How can you stare me in the face and decline participating in my one senior year wish?

> Cole: Just for the record? I think you’ve told me, like, at least six separate times that something is your ‘one senior year wish.’ It’s different every time. Remember at the apple festival—

> Reid: But _listen_ —

> Cole: And at Bluegrass open mic—

> Reid: Hold on, though—

> Cole: And that one time in your apartment—

> Reid: Cole! You’re breaking my heart. Why won’t you do the sexy Santa dance with me?!

> Danny: I’ll do it.

> Reid: _Daniel Cho_ , have I mentioned lately that you’re a superior man and I love you?

> Quinn: I’ll do it, too!

> Quinn: (to Reid) As long as you’re Regina.

> Reid: Obviously, I’m Regina. You think I haven’t planned this out? You’re Cady, frosh, because you’re ginger and you’re new.

> Quinn: I’m honored.😌😌😌

> Reid: I’ll be fun! I’ll get us a boombox, and we can find weird slutty male costumes, and my roommate Eli can be Tina Fey and start playing the piano—

> Danny, about to fall off his chair laughing: Oh my God, _yes_.

> Quinn: I feel like Maggie may be jealous that this is happening without her.

> Reid: Tell Maggie that I’m sorry, but this is reserved for the men in the drama club with the most sex appeal.

> Cole: (Gagging noise.)

> Quinn: Oh! And I can make us costumes!

> Reid, putting a hand to his heart: You’d do that? For me? I knew you were my favorite freshman.

> Danny: Okay, is it weird that I’m kind of excited?

> Reid: No, it means you have good taste.

> Quinn: I’m excited as well.

> (Everybody turns and looks at Cole.)

> Cole: 

> Reid:

> Quinn:

> Danny:

> Cole: I am _Jewish_.

> Reid: Yeah, exactly, so you can be Gretchen, dumbass!

> Cole: I hate you, Reid.

> Reid, high-fiving Danny: We got him, boys!

And so it begins…….. Reid gets to live out his fantasy of having absolutely no shame, Quinn gets to design his own sexy Santa costume, Danny does it for the meme, and Cole……… does it for Reid and only for Reid. It’s important that you all know that Cole wears suspenders and an open Santa jacket, because apparently that’s a thing. Quinn’s costume in some way involves short shorts. Reid would straight-up wear the dress. [As we’ve recently discussed, Reid would wear a dress.](https://sincerelyreidburke.tumblr.com/post/636140339550371841/have-you-ever-seen-a-more-stunning)

People who are not prepared to witness this but have to lay their eyes upon it anyway, an unfinished list: Bri, Jhiron, Claire, _Nando_ ……..

Actually, that raises a good point. How does Nando handle this without combusting? He probably doesn’t. It’s Cell Block Tango 2.0 even though this takes place before the Cell Block Tango incident.

> Quinn sewing a pair of red velvet booty shorts:

> Nando: Uh……,,,, baby? Who are those for?

> Quinn: Oh, they’re for me!😊😊😊

> Nando: 😳😳😳😳😳😳😳😳

> Quinn: I’m making costumes for the drama club variety show. It’s in two weeks. Are you coming?

> Nando, sweating: Well, like, uh, 😳😳😳😳, obviously I’m coming if that’s what you’re wearing—

To the best of their ability, they copy the choreography from the movie, and they practice in one of the dance studios in the performing arts center. Imagine being a dance major, minding your own business and going to practice after hours, and you unlock the studio and that ginger freshman who starred in the spring musical is yelling choreography at three uncoordinated upperclassmen. And also Christmas music is playing. And one of them is wearing a Santa hat.

Reid pulls some drama club strings and gets them to be the last thing on the program. He swears them all to secrecy, so a limited number of people know what they’re actually performing. He wants the crowd at the variety show to be surprised.

Aaaand that’s the story of how Reid brought the house down at the final Kiersey Drama variety show of his college career. And had Christmas in April.

You may ask yourself, why? I raise you: why not?


	2. quinn and nando take manhattan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 2 of 25! This is so indulgent. It's so indulgent that I actually laughed at myself while writing it. But consider this: I don't care.  
> [You could treat this as a super-prequel to the following fic.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24199399/chapters/58800616#workskin)  
> [PROMPT: In the summer between his sophomore and junior year, Quinn tours with a fictional production of a real Broadway show, Deaf West's Spring Awakening. I recently watched the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade and decided that Quinn Cooper needed to be in on that action. Here's what happened as a result. ](https://sincerelyreidburke.tumblr.com/post/636415335334051840/a-fic-for-day-2)

_Quinn and Nando's junior year_

_Playbill.com_

_November 1st, 2020_

_Summer 2020 Touring Cast of Deaf West’s_ Spring Awakening _To Perform At 2020 Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade_

*

_Tuesday_

_Kiersey, NH_

Technically, the official start of Quinn’s Thanksgiving break occurs at 1:15 on Tuesday, when his last class lets out. Walking across campus after he leaves the sciences building is, to be sure, a very freeing experience. But it’s not until he’s by the door at the house on Beech Street, with a packed bag over his shoulder and a train ticket in his pocket, that it truly feels like his break is beginning.

“I can’t believe you two are ditching out on Shaley Thanksgiving,” Ben tells him, shaking his head and mock-scowling, as he takes the keys to his Prius off a hook by the door. “After all I’ve done for you?”

Quinn smiles brightly, and offers Ben nothing but a shrug. “I’m sorry, Ben,” he hums, “but I’ll be thinking of you in spirit.”

“Wow, that’s so nice of you, Mini.” Ben puts a hand to his heart, with all the snark in the world still in his eyes. “It’s almost for a moment like you’re not ditching to go to the big city.”

Quinn hums contemplatively, then glances at the time on his phone. “ _Sebastián_ ,” he calls, and hopes his voice travels up the stairs. “We’ve got to go! The train’s in twenty minutes!”

“Twenty-four,” corrects Remy, as he walks to the door to join them with his own bag in tow. “You’ve got time, Q.”

Quinn knows he _does_ have time, but as they say in the theater, on time is ten minutes early. He smiles at Remy anyway, and sighs. “I suppose we do, don’t we?”

Remy shrugs. “The train station _is_ , like, two seconds away.”

This is also true.

“You’ll have to forgive me, Ben,” he adds, while they’re waiting. “Goodness knows I’m grateful for your mother’s hospitality.”

“It’s okay.” Ben smirks. “On the bright side, this year you won’t have to deal with her being weird.”

Mrs. Shaley _does_ say odd things, most of them thinly veiled discomfort about his existence as an openly gay man ( _Quinn, you are just so stylish! It must just be natural for you people_ ), but Quinn is still grateful that she had him to her house last year all the same.

Remy, who _is_ going home with Ben again this year for the brief break, looks to him now, and asks, “Will we see you on TV?”

Quinn smiles— he can’t help it— and dusts off his knit scarf where it’s wound around his neck. “I certainly hope you will,” he replies. “So long as the parade is on, I don’t see why you wouldn’t.”

“That’s awesome,” Remy says, with a smile of his own, and Ben adds, “I can’t wait to live-Tweet it and say I know you.”

He sighs into his hand. “Oh, Benjamin.” He’s about to call for Sebastián again— he did have the class that released the latest of all of them, so it makes sense he’s the last to be ready, but then again, he should have just packed last night— but before he can call him, the floor shakes with the unmistakable rhythm of him bounding down the stairs, and in another second, he’s joined them by the door.

“Sorry, baby.” With his backpack over his shoulder, Sebastián looks handsome enough that Quinn is willing to forget his previous punctuality stress. “I’m ready now.” He’s in his nice winter jacket, with the red scarf and matching hat, and he looks every bit prepared for the November streets of New York.

“Good,” Quinn says, simply, and fixes the way his scarf tucks into his jacket before he turns to nod at Ben. “We’re ready when you are, mister taxi service.”

“You’re an asshole,” Ben replies, “and let’s get outta here.”

The train station is only a three-minute drive from campus, and Ben and Remy drop them off there, with their own long drive to Providence awaiting them as they pull out of sight. Quinn feels as if he’s buzzing with adrenaline, with the excitement of the five days that lie ahead of them. Thanksgiving break may not be long, and in past years, it hasn’t been very eventful for him— freshman year, he stayed on campus, and last year at Ben’s house was nice but not particularly crazy— but this year is a whole new story.

This year, he gets a Thanksgiving break straight out of his wildest, most wonderful daydreams.

“Are you excited, _cariño_?” Sebastián asks him, as they’re waiting on the platform for the train, bundled up with their bags in the cold. Quinn feels like they’re at the start of a wonderful holiday movie.

“Of course I am.” He winds his arm up in his and remarks, “In fact, I can’t remember the last time I was quite this excited.”

Sebastián smiles. Under his knit cap, his curls are just a little windblown. Quinn has never seen a more handsome sight. “I’m excited for you,” he says, and kisses his forehead, and this is going to be the greatest school break ever.

*

_Wednesday_

_New York, NY_

On their first full day in New York, Quinn has rehearsals. This makes sense, because the whole reason they’re in New York in the first place is so that Quinn can perform. Nando doesn’t even have enough words for how _proud_ he is of him, and the performance hasn’t even happened yet.

Quinn is up bright and early Wednesday morning. He’s headed to the hotel convention center downstairs, where he’s meeting up with his castmates from over the summer for the first time since he left tour in August. Nando rolls over in bed— it’s still dark out— and smiles when he feels him a kiss to his cheek on his way out. He reaches out of the covers and feels around until he can grab Quinn’s hand in the dark.

He squeezes it, three times— their wordless way to say _I love you_. Quinn returns the three squeezes, kisses the back of his hand, and then turns to go, a silhouette in rehearsal clothes as he leaves.

The bed feels empty without him afterwards, but it’s still dark outside the windows of the room, so Nando falls asleep for another little while and dreams of 

When he wakes again, he has an interesting situation on his hands: time to himself, in the middle of New York City. He’s never been here before, but he’s fully prepared to become a huge tourist so he can visit some of the food spots he follows on Instagram.

At a respectable hour, he gets up, gets dressed, and does just that in Quinn’s absence. A few very successful dessert-for-breakfast experiences later, he heads back to the hotel to FaceTime Mama and his sisters.

“Can we watch him on TV?” Gabi asks.

“Is he gonna be on one of the floats?” adds Rosa.

“Well, not exactly on a float,” Nando tells them, “but yeah, you can watch him on TV! I don’t know when he’s on, but he’ll know, so I’ll text you guys later.”

“Wish him luck for us,” Mama says, with a warm smile, and Nando smiles, too. It’s not that often you spend Thanksgiving in New York, when your family is thousands of miles away and your friends hundreds, but it’s also not often that your boyfriend, the love of your life, your favorite person in the entire world, is performing at the Thanksgiving Day Parade, so. Y’know.

Nando didn’t know it was possible to be this cheeky with pride.

At noon, he goes downstairs to pick Quinn up from rehearsal. He’ll have a busy Thursday, what with the parade and everything, but for the rest of the day, their time is entirely theirs.

It’s kind of easy to tell where the cast people are coming from, because one of Nando’s various acquired skills from the course the two years so far of this relationship is being able to spot Deaf people in public. It’s really not hard. Just watch for flying hands!

That’s how he spots Quinn— leaving the convention area, among his fellow Deaf West people, or— Kyra, actually, to be more specific. Nando hasn’t seen Kyra in months, since July, actually, when he met her on their Phoenix _Spring Awakening_ tour stop. Her hair is different— in space buns instead of her afro— and she’s wearing a bright orange sweater, which, if her Instagram is accurate, is right in line with her sunshine aesthetic. She was amazing on tour; she’s such a talented person.

She walks side by side with Quinn, and they’re moving kind of slowly because they’re turned halfway toward each other to talk. Their hands move a mile a minute, and Nando knows a good amount of sign, but can’t keep up with this rapid conversation.

Lucky for him, he doesn’t have to. Quinn and Kyra seem to see him at the same time— and Kyra signs something he _does_ understand, with this huge, bright smile. Literally, her sign means _cactus_ and _S_ , but Nando knows that’s just his sign name.

He waves across the lobby, then signs back to her— _sunshine_ and _K_ , for Kyra, and she lights up even more. She runs the rest of the way over, and Quinn goes after her.

 _How are you?_ he asks, and Kyra looks so excited that she almost jumps up and down.

They get to hold a small conversation in sign, and Nando loves catching up with Kyra but sort of loves even _more_ how Quinn smiles as he watches them talk, like he’s glad they’re interacting, and it’s just— it’s wholesome. It’s great. Kyra is great, and he’s just so happy for Quinn that he gets to see her and all his tour friends again. He was sad to part with them at the end of the summer.

Kyra’s mom is in the city with her, so they part ways when she arrives; Quinn has another brief and very fast sign conversation with her as she’s leaving. Nando figures it’s probably just ‘see you tomorrow,’ but you never know.

“Baby,” he whispers, leaning down to him as they start side-by-side toward the elevator, “you _have_ to hear about the churro I found this morning.”

Quinn laughs, and looks up to him, winding his arm in his elbow. Nando thinks they were meant to fit together this way. It’s so natural, and so easy. “I would love to hear about that.”

“I took pictures and everything,” he says, then pauses to press the button and hail the elevator. He looks to him again to add, “But also, how was rehearsal? Can I take you out to lunch?”

“Out to lunch?” Quinn swoons. “You must be trying to get in my good graces.”

He pretends to pout. “Am I not already in your good graces?”

Quinn swats at his chest. “Oh, don’t be a drama queen.”

He kind of wants to point out that Quinn, rather than he, is the one who just got out of several hours of pro theatre rehearsal— but he guesses that would be telling him what he already knows. Instead, he grins and shrugs, then kisses his forehead. The elevator _dings_ upon arrival. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he says, and they have a very good afternoon.

*

_Thursday_

It’s absolutely frigid outside, and it’s six in the morning, and Quinn is having the time of his life.

He’s huddled on a couch with his castmates, in a trailer, waiting for the day to begin— though he supposes it’s already started, given his five o’clock wake-up call. He thought the tour was exciting, and truly, it was, but _this_ is a whole other excitement entirely— being in New York, with so many performers all in one small place, knowing what lies in store for his day.

Life, he thinks, is maybe a dream come true right now. From coming here with Sebastián to getting to perform, there are so many things he’s grateful for, so many experiences he feels so lucky to have. This is no exception, as he sits in the trailer, with space heaters warming his feet and cast friends on either side. It’s like being back on tour, except this time, it’s one time only. He has to make it count.

And… yes. Quinn is decided. He is going to be completely obnoxious on Instagram today. To start it out, he nudges Kyra, who sits directly next to him, and opens the front camera on his phone.

Kyra lights up for the camera— she truly is the human embodiment of the sun, and Quinn is honestly a little jealous of how good and put-together she _already_ looks at six in the morning. She’s wearing yellow earmuffs that sort of match the gold rims on her glasses, and she hooks an arm around his neck to lean into the picture. Her cheek is warm against his, and he laughs. On his other side, their friend Minji pushes into the camera, too, and flashes a heart at the camera with her thumb and pointer picture together.

 _Are you posting that?_ Minji asks, once he’s snapped the selfie.

He puts his phone down and grins. _Obviously, I’m posting it._

He’s hunting for stickers to put it on his story when it becomes something of a ‘thing’— the various other friends and castmates around him realize he’s taking pictures, and then, right as he gets the selfie up on his story with a little turkey sticker, everyone is clustering for another.

_Group shot!_

_Let us be on your Instagram!_

_Yeah, we need a reunion picture._

_Hang on,_ he tells them, and laughs, then climbs up onto the edge of the couch. He faces them to add, _I’m not tall enough for that_ , and while they laugh at his height’s expense, he rolls his eyes and opens his camera again.

 _Smile!_ he signs into the camera, and then clicks the button a few times so he’ll have options to choose from. This one should be a post, not a story, he decides. He thinks there are enough cast members in it to maybe send it to production staff. Not to pat himself on the back or anything. Really, he just wants to document these moments with his friends, while they’re all still in one place again.

 _Oh, you know what we should do?_ he says to Kyra, as he’s sitting down on the arm of the couch. _A before and after picture, with costumes._

Kyra grins, and she nods. They did posts like that several times, over tour— a picture before you get costumed, and then the same picture but after you’re ready to go onstage. _We should make a TikTok_ , Kyra says.

He laughs. _Oh, goodness_ , he says, but he knows he’ll probably wind up doing just that. He has a feeling his social media will be quite alive and well by the end of the day today.

He wants to hold every part of this day in his memory, so he’ll never forget what this feels like.

*

It’s been three months since Quinn got to be Moritz Stiefel.

Though it took a lot out of him this summer, it’s a role he’s missed sorely, and he doesn’t usually get to go back to playing characters whose shows have come to a close for him. He supposes today is a bit of an exception, and, to be sure, he’s been _excited_ for today since the very moment he learned this performance would be happening— but it’s not _real_ , exactly, until he sees himself in a mirror, in costume.

He knows this version of himself, though he hasn’t seen it in awhile. His hair is mussed up, and the school uniform costume fits just as it’s supposed to, with a crooked tie and a tall pair of socks. He isn’t mic’d yet— that’s a step they’ll reach later this morning, with the sound technicians at the parade, and his hearing aids have been out for several hours; they’re tucked into his jacket pocket right now.

The mirror in the trailer is small, and he smiles at himself in it. He always likes this part, performing— when he gets to see himself as the character he’s going to be. Today, it’ll only be for five minutes— but five minutes of glory, _on television_ , with his friends from the summer, and so they’re bound to be some of the most exhilarating five minutes of his life.

He doesn’t want to get a big head, but the fact that so many people will be watching… that’s a lot to take in. On the street, in person, Sebastián will be watching, too, and that’s something he’s very mindful of.

Kyra is putting flowers into her hair, at the small mirror next to him. He grabs his phone to wave it at her, and she grins, then signs for him to wait one second, so he does.

 _Just like old times,_ she says, when she’s done, and then lets him take their picture in the mirror. He sends it off to Sebastián first, then puts it on his steadily growing Instagram story.

It _is_ just like old times. Quinn doesn’t want the day to be over, and it’s barely begun.

*

Of all the places he’s performed, Quinn has to say that the streets of New York City rank high.

The morning is a blur— move from place to place, let people tell you where to be, get briefed by tech people who know a lot more about what’s going on than he does. Comply, because that’s what you do. Warm up your voice. Take so many pictures that your phone starts to yell at you that it’s running out of storage.

From a distance, spot someone who looks an awful lot like your boyfriend on the side of the street. You can tell it’s him, because you knit that red scarf for him two Christmases ago. It’s his color, undoubtedly. Kyra signs his name at him from afar, but he doesn’t see either of you. Until you go on.

You get a little nervous, but you don’t have time to be nervous, because you’re on the move and you’re waiting to perform, and then— you blink, a rush of adrenaline, and it’s over.

And you just did what actors all over the country _dream_ of doing.

There aren’t words for that in English _or_ in sign.

*

_Friday_

On Friday morning, when Quinn wakes up, it’s snowing.

He doesn’t realize it at first. He’s tucked beneath Sebastián in their hotel bed, waking from a sleep so deep and welcome it felt truly heavenly, buried between covers and warm weight. He opens his eyes to gentle, natural light in the room, a sure sign they slept in, and he blinks a few times before he realizes what he’s seeing in the nearby window.

Snow. So much snow, and falling fast. _Goodness_ , it’s beautiful. The view isn’t bad, either; Manhattan is a sea of buildings, and this snapshot of glass is only a glance. The snow is so peaceful, coupled with the thought that they have nowhere to go, nowhere to be. After the dream come true that was yesterday— the parade, the performance, getting dinner with Sebastián and Kyra at some diner with no other patrons in the middle of the Thanksgiving afternoon— he could use to rest and reflect.

Quinn knows it’s cliché, but he truly does love this city.

He threads his fingers into Sebastián’s curls, and pulls his head close to his chest, and rests in bed while he watches the snow come down.

Some time later, when Sebastián has woken, he gets to spend a lazy, snowy morning in bed, and between gentle kisses, he tells him there’s nowhere else he would rather be.

*

_Saturday_

“Can you keep up, baby?”

Nando knows a retort is coming before it even does, but he still grins when Quinn pipes up, from a few feet behind him, “Oh, you just mind your business, Sebastián; I am _fine_.”

As if to prove it, he closes the small space between them and skates up by his side. Nando knows that getting out on the ice and immediately taunting him was not practical, but it was entertaining, and he likes that Quinn’s cheeks are flushing now. He holds out his elbow, like a peace offering, and Quinn wraps his gloved hand up in it.

“You wanna take a winter stroll?” Nando asks him, with a wink down in his direction.

“This is hardly a stroll,” Quinn replies, in that know-it-all voice that drives Nando crazy in the best way possible. “It’s more of a glide,” he adds, and with that, they start skating along.

“That’s fair,” Nando replies, and tips his head up to take in the view.

He couldn’t spend any weekend even slightly related to the holiday season in New York City without going ice skating under the huge tree. Because first of all, it’s in every New York Christmas movie ever, and second, one of his and Quinn’s first dates was skating, and third, he fricking loves to skate, and fourth, this is his life, so there.

“This is breathtaking,” Quinn remarks, and that’s an understatement. There are enough lights on the tree to probably show up from space, and Nando has learned over the past few days how huge this city actually is, but being right here in the middle of everything just reinforces that truth. They skate along in the throngs of other people, which is part of the tourist experience, and honestly just makes it even better. Nando has seen this on TV so many times. He can’t believe he’s actually _here_. Pretty much everything about this weekend has been like some kind of dream situation where crazy things you imagine actually come true.

And speaking of dreams. He looks down to Quinn, and it’s, like, okay— _cheesy_ , but the lights are all reflecting in his eyes, and he’s bundled in his scarf and peacoat, and he’s the prettiest thing Nando has ever seen. Including the giant tree. Including everything.

Quinn catches him looking. Of course he does. He smiles, rosy-cheeked and windblown, and hums, “What?”

“I love you,” Nando replies, and kisses him right in the middle of everything.

Quinn laughs out of the kiss. He stays tight on his arm, and somehow, they keep skating without falling. Nando thanks his hockey side for that.

“I love you, too,” Quinn replies, and his voice could block out all the noise of the whole city.

They’re the center of the world.

*

_Sunday_

_Kiersey, NH_

The whole way home to Kiersey, Quinn sleeps on Sebastián’s shoulder.

It’s unintentional, but peaceful all the same, dreams full of memories of the weekend. He gets into his seat at Grand Central Station, slumps against him, and wakes to his gentle nudging hours later, so they can change trains in Boston. The next ride is shorter, but he rests again anyways, and the gray November day is dimming outside the train windows when he opens his eyes at the Kiersey station.

They walk back to campus— it isn’t far. Sebastián is holding both of their bags, and Quinn is holding nothing but his arm. It’s chilly, but bundled up, it isn’t so bad. With this boy, Quinn is so very warm. By the time they round the corner onto Beech Street, lines of student houses with warm windows stretching down either side of the familiar road, the sun has gone down.

On the front steps, Quinn pulls his hands out and looks up to him. He hasn’t had his hearing aids on in over twenty-four hours, and it’s been the most liberating and lovely experience. Before they re-enter the chaos of the hockey house and he’ll have to put them in again, he wants to sign him one last thing.

 _Thank you for joining me_ , he says, once he has his gaze. _I love you so much._

Sebastián smiles. He puts the bags down by the door, rests both hands on his shoulders, and kisses him gently. No wintry breeze could stop the warmth in Quinn’s chest.

When he’s pulled back, Sebastián replies, _I’d join you anywhere. I love you, too._

Quinn beams at him, and with one more shared, quiet moment, Sebastián picks up the bags, and Quinn leans into the front door and pushes it open. _Hey, people!_ he reads on Sebastián’s lips, no doubt a loud exclamation, as they cross the threshold together. _We’re home!_

Home, indeed. Quinn closes the door behind them, and the warm, familiar, slightly chaotic embrace of Beech Street welcomes them back.


	3. five christmases with the burkes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 3 of 25, join the Burke family (AKA Reid, Bri, and their eventual children) for five separate Christmases over the years.  
> If you do not know: Reid, my resident aspiring comedian OC, has a lovely girlfriend named Bri whom he’s with from freshman year of college way on until forever. What you’re about to see for today’s 25 Days of Kiersey content is a set of vignettes from 5 Christmases during their young adult to middle-aged lives. We’ll start while they’re still in college, but by the last one, you’ll be meeting four tiny Burkes................  
> [PROMPT: mel,, please give us Burke children decorating the Christmas tree :')](https://sincerelyreidburke.tumblr.com/post/636507208372387840/mel-please-give-us-burke-children-decorating-the)

_ Christmas #1 _

_ Kiersey, New Hampshire _

Reid has a tiny Christmas tree in his dorm room.

It’s the least he can do. Like, yeah, he’ll be home for winter break in two weeks, but Christmas trees are one of his favorite parts of decorating, and he’s capitalizing on as much of that as possible while he’s still at college. His roommate, Jhiron, doesn’t really do Christmas, but he doesn’t mind, because Jhiron is the chillest and also best possible freshman year roommate a guy could have.

It’s a small tree, anyway. And it’s not decorated— until Bri knocks on his door one afternoon, while Jhiron is in class.

“Hey!” On the other side of the door, she’s very cute and very festive. She’s wearing a sweater and Christmas leggings, bright red with snowflake print, and in her arms is a big paper bag. “Are you busy?”

Reid grins and leans against the doorframe. “Not too busy for you,” he replies, and lets her in.

She dumps the paper bag on his bed. “Me and Jazzy were at Target,” she starts, “and I thought you could use some stuff for your little tree.”

“Oh my God.” She’s only been his girlfriend for, like, six weeks, but he’s confident in this moment that she’s the actual best girlfriend in history. From the bag, onto his bedspread, she’s scattered a handful of ornaments, a string of lights, and a tinsel garland. “ _ Babe _ ,” he says. “This stuff is for me?”

“Yeah!” Bri lights up like she herself is a Christmas tree, and jumps up onto the edge of his mattress, swinging her legs where they’re too short to reach the ground. “What’s the point of having a tree if it’s not decorated?”

“First of all, ouch.” He puts a hand to his chest. “I feel like that was a dig at my decorating skills.”

Bri smirks. “Never,” she replies, and draws a circle around the top of her head, like a halo. “I just thought you could use some…  _ inspiration _ .”

He can’t help it. He grins at her like a doofus. While he’s grinning, she adds, “And you said you liked decorating trees the other day, so… I thought we could do it together?”

“Um, hell yes,” he replies, “I would  _ love _ to do that with you. C’mon. Let’s deck this sucker out.” He grabs an ornament from the pile— it’s a miniature, glass apple, but it’s swirled gold and blue, and he laughs when he realizes the reference to their college’s entire brand. “Is this a Kiersey apple?”

“What else?” Bri jumps off his bed, and takes the lights with her. “I actually, uh— I made that one. In the glass studio.”

“No shit.” He looks from her to the apple. It’s fucking amazing artwork— six weeks has been  _ more _ than enough time to realize his girlfriend is an insanely talented artist— but he still grins in disbelief, because this shit looks  _ professional _ . Right off a store shelf. “You made this yourself?”

“Yeah!” Bri twists a strand of blond, wavy hair, and gives him a humble smile. “It’s the only one I made, but, uh— yeah.”

“I  _ love  _ it,” he declares, holding it up to the light. “It’ll be our inaugural ornament.”

“ _ Sweet _ ,” Bri laughs, and then they fill the dorm with holiday cheer.

*

_ Christmas #4 _

_ Kiersey, New Hampshire _

Reid’s campus apartment is extremely multicultural at the holidays.

Jake’s menorah is by the window. It’s one of those fake, plastic ones, but it’s still a menorah, and you can see it from outside Duffy Hall. The same goes for Jhiron’s kinara, although that’s in the window of their double bedroom, on the opposite side of the apartment. Reid has his tiny Christmas tree from freshman and sophomore year by his bed, but what he’s  _ really _ proud of, these past two years living in a student apartment, is the  _ proper _ Christmas tree he gets to put up in the common area.

“That thing is an eyesore,” Jake announces, when he walks in on Reid’s disaster decorating scene mid-afternoon on December 1st.

“Hey, bite your tongue,” Reid retorts, and waves the nearest jingle bell in his general direction. “You have your holidays and I’ll have mine.”

“It’s not the holiday,” Jake replies, with a grimace. “It’s the psychedelic lights.”

“Hey, the lights are fun!” Bri— who is the only person here who respects him, and she doesn’t even live in this apartment— is digging through a small box of ornaments on the carpet beneath the tree. As has become tradition, they’re setting it up together. Reid technically invited his roommates to participate, but Jake is unenthusiastic, Eli is in class, and Jhiron is on the couch providing color commentary.

“You’re too nice to him, Bri,” Jake says, as he drops his backpack by the kitchen counter and opens the fridge. “It enables his chaos.”

“You love my chaos, Jakey,” Reid calls. “Don’t even lie to yourself.”

Jake sighs as he sticks his head into the fridge, and Reid goes back to his tree. The so-called psychedelic lights are rainbow, and they’ve already been wrapped around it. It’s a fake tree, which is sad news on the scent front, but putting up a real one for the grand total of two weeks of December they’re at this apartment before winter break would be a waste. And also, Reid doesn’t trust himself with a real Christmas tree. Unlike his dad, he is not an outdoorsman.

From the floor, Bri waves up at him. “Hey,” she says. “I found you something.”

When he looks down, she’s handing him an ornament— the blue and gold apple she made for him freshman year. “ _ Oh _ ,” he cries, with a grin, and grabs it from her. “Thanks, babe! I was looking for this.”

“I know you were.” In a Santa hat and one of her many pairs of Christmas leggings, Bri is ready to be festive. Their shared love of Christmas is, like, almost foundational to their relationship.

“Okay, everyone—” He raises his voice, and looks from side to side, in his best attempt to catch all the attention in the apartment. “Are you ready? This is the ceremonial first ornament of Christmas—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” With a yogurt in his hand now, Jake kicks the fridge door shut. “We know. It’s a momentous occasion.”

“I’m gonna kick your ass, Jacob.” Reid sticks his tongue out at him, then looks back to Bri. “All haters need not interact!”

Bri makes like she’s toasting an invisible glass. “Hear, hear.”

He hangs the apple on one of the higher branches, and sings a little  _ do-do-dooo _ fanfare as he does. Bri applauds once it’s hung, and Jhiron joins in, except his is a slow clap. Reid flips him off, then flicks the ball on the end of Bri’s hat.

“In all seriousness,” Jhiron says, looking to Bri once he’s done slow-clapping, “The fact that you made that is insane.”

“Yeah, Bri,” Jake adds, strolling in from the kitchen with his yogurt, “why do you even hang around with this loser? You’re so talented, and he’s…” He pauses, then waves his spoon vaguely in Reid’s direction and plops down on the couch with Jhiron. “I mean. He speaks for himself.”

Jhiron nods sagely. “You should dump his ass.”

Reid laughs. “Fuck you guys. It’s not my fault I’m the most festive member of this apartment.”

“I take personal offense to that.” Jake points his spoon to the menorah window. “I get personal comments on my beautiful menorah on the regular.”

Jhiron arches an eyebrow. “From who?”

“That’s not important.”

Reid laughs again, and kneels to help Bri with the ornament box. “What other fun stuff is in here?”

“We should find out,” Bri replies, with a smile, and so they do.

*

_ Christmas #6 _

_ New York, New York _

There’s barely room for the tree in their apartment.

It’s a fact Reid is trying not to focus that hard on, but it’s kind of difficult  _ not _ to focus on it when the tree is actually in here. It was cramped last year, too— still festive, but cramped— but this year, the tree is sort of like a reminder of how little has changed in the past year.

That’s… a little dramatic, yeah. But Reid is trying to stay positive. It’s just been a long year, and a really hard one. He’s making  _ some _ progress in the general grand scheme of life (like this: his show last weekend at one of his favorite clubs got a good crowd, and they laughed, a lot, which felt nice). But the apartment is still way too tiny for comfort, with some questionable ceiling stains and a few rodent problems, and it’s a daily reminder of how they can’t afford much more.

Still, the Christmas tree goes up. It’s the fake one from his apartment in Duffy Hall at Kiersey, and it stays in a box in their closet eleven months out of the year. As Bri looks through the bottom of the closet for their ornaments, he zones out looking at the lights, staring long enough that they go fuzzy.

The tree is next to their bed; from now until Christmas, it’ll be the first thing he sees when he wakes up in the morning. Rainbow lights and all. Because even when you’re broke in New York, you still have to stay festive.

“Aha!” In his blurry peripheral vision, Bri stands, and lifts a small cardboard box in triumph. “Found ‘em.”

He  _ hears _ her say this, but in his zoned-out state it takes him a second to process— long enough for her to walk over to him, and set the box down under the tree. “Hey,” she says, and her gentle voice cuts through the perpetual white noise in his head. When she grasps his forearm with one warm hand, it’s enough to get him out of the haze, and he can see clearly again. “You okay?”

He’s about to tell her he’s fine. After all, he  _ is _ fine. He has a Sunday morning off, a rarity— well, if you count ‘I got to sleep in, but have to work the lunch shift’ as a morning off— and he’s about to decorate a Christmas tree with his fiancée. He even got to have pancakes this morning for breakfast. So he starts to say he’s okay. But what comes out instead is, “I’m sorry there’s no room.”

Bri slides her hand down so she can lace her fingers in his, and he tears his eyes away from the tree so he can meet hers. She tips her head just a little to the side. All she says is, “What?”

“I mean, I’m sorry—” He shakes his head, and sighs at their socks, because he already knows that she’s going to tell him not to apologize, but that won’t change how bad he feels for his colossal lack of success this year. “I’m sorry. That we’re still here.”

Bri laughs a little— it’s not the kind of laugh where she’s laughing  _ at _ him, it’s more like a  _ don’t be silly _ laugh. A  _ don’t worry _ laugh. She takes his other hand, and then leans forward, until their foreheads press together. “Hey,” she whispers. “I don’t mind it here.”

He pulls back to arch an eyebrow. She’s  _ definitely _ being overly generous, but when she sees his incredulous look, she laughs again and leans back in. “I’m serious,” she replies. “We have each other, so the rest is fine by me.”

He smiles, and it’s a natural one, which feels nice. “Well,” he murmurs, tipping his forehead against hers again. “Now you sound like we’re in a bad Christmas movie.”

Now her laugh is absent of pity— just a good, clean laugh. “Maybe we are,” she replies. “I think that would be fun.” She gives him a kiss that’s more like a peck, then lets go of his hands and kneels next to her box.

“To be in a bad Christmas movie?” he asks, raising his eyebrow again.

“For your information,” she replies, reaching into the box, “I think a Christmas movie about our lives would be quality entertainment.”

“Riiiiight.” He smiles, and folds his arms. “Right out of Hallmark.”

“Exactly.” With a little flourish, she pulls something out of the box, and he smiles wider when he sees the glass apple dangling from its ribbon. “Now c’mon,” she says, holding it out to him. “Let’s get this party started.”

*

_ Christmas #10 _

_ New York, New York _

This year, they put the tree up by the big window in the living room.

It’s Reid’s favorite view in the new place. It’s not exactly ‘new,’ really— they moved in in April, and now it’s December— but it  _ is _ their first holiday season here, so it feels new with all the decorations up. This is their third apartment in the city; they started looking as soon as Bri found out she was pregnant, and Reid can confidently say that it’s his favorite place they’ve lived yet.

Because, like, for starters: this window. It’s huge, ceiling to floor, and it’s the perfect place for the tree, which is an extremely important Burke family tradition. Tonight is a night off for him; those are getting more frequent, since he has more of a say in his schedule (except on Saturday nights, but trust him, he will  _ never _ complain about that). Bri has a Christmas station playing on the Bluetooth system in the living room, and Reid walks up to the window and stops at the tree. In his arms, he bobs his four-month-old daughter, to the jingly rhythm of Frosty the Snowman from the radio.

“What do you think, Flo?” he asks her, after a minute of that, and looking out over the surrounding city. “Do you like the tree?”

She’s still too little to talk, but if her attention is any indication, Flo  _ does _ like the tree— because she’s staring at it. The rainbow lights strung around it reflect in her eyes. Big and brown, they’re exactly like Bri’s. She looks a lot like Bri, actually, but she definitely has his nose.

“We’re gonna put all the ornaments up tonight,” he tells her, rubbing her cheek with his thumb. She has a chubby baby face, and it’s the best. “It’ll look pretty when it’s done.”

She’s still staring at the tree. Maybe she likes the lights. He kisses the side of her head, and bobs her to the Frosty beat some more. Bri put her in a gingerbread onesie today, and a little knit hat that matches. Baby outfits are extremely fun, but his favorite part is the tiny socks. He swears he’s gotten Flo enough tiny socks this year that she could wear a new pair every day. That would be a true way for her to carry on her father’s legacy.

Socks: they’re a serious Burke family tradition.

“Oh, Floooo,” comes Bri’s voice, suddenly, from the top of the stairs to the loft. “Mommy found some fun stuff upstairs!”

Reid turns to see her coming down, with a box of decorations in tow. It’s a little awkwardly shaped, and he stops bobbing to raise an eyebrow, grinning her way. “Does Mommy need help with that box?”

“No!” She’s smiling, and she makes her way down the rest of the stairs without incident. Bri has never been that clumsy— he’s the uncoordinated one in this marriage by far. He wonders which parent Flo will side with in that department.

There’s a lot yet to be discovered, about the tiny little girl in his arms— and he can’t wait to be here for all of it.

“See, I got it,” Bri adds, as she plops down the box at the bottom of the stairs. She lets out a breath, like she’s winded, and Reid laughs at her expense, because what else is he here for.

“Good job,” he chirps, and then looks to Flo. “Say ‘good job, Mommy’.”

Flo makes a small noise, but it is definitely not  _ good job, Mommy.  _ It’s more like a  _ blaaaa _ . She waves her arm in Bri’s direction.

“Aww,” he says, feigning offense. “Is someone sick of me?”

“Aw, poor Flo,” Bri teases, as she drags the box over to the window, laughing along the way. “Are you being forced to hang out with Daddy?”

“It’s a tough job,” Reid remarks, “but somebody’s gotta do it.”

Bri pops open the box’s lid, and Reid kneels with her, eyeing Flo as she takes in the assortment of decorations inside. “See?” he tells her, tickling her cheek again. “These go on the tree.”

Flo flaps her arm and makes another  _ blaaa _ noise. She’s smiling, so he wagers she’s a fan of the decorations.

Bri is nodding, as she pulls a small box off the top of the conglomerate. “Uh-huh,” she says, but in her  _ I’m talking to Flo _ voice. They both have Flo voices. “We’ll have to get you some ornaments of your own soon, huh, Flo?”

“Ooh, good idea.” As Flo headbutts his shoulder, Reid nods at Bri. “Maybe Santa should bring you one.”

Bri tilts her head and smiles. “That’s a good idea.” By the ribbon, she pulls their familiar apple out of the tiny box. “Does Daddy want to do the first one?”

“Daddy might have to do it one-handed,” he replies, taking the ornament carefully from her, “but he accepts the challenge.” He stands up, and moves his arm to hold Flo a little more steadily, before he makes his way to the tree. “See, Flo? This is the special apple. It looks yummy, huh? You wanna help?”

Bri is laughing at him from behind, and he doesn’t care in the slightest. He guides Flo’s tiny hand with his own while he hangs the apple, then turns to Bri, waving Flo’s hand in the air. “We did it!”

“Good  _ job _ ,” Bri laughs, and walks to join them at the tree. She kisses the top of Flo’s head, and he wraps his free arm around her waist. They share a deep breath, and the song on the radio changes over to White Christmas.

“Are you feeling festive, Daddy?” Bri asks, looking up to meet his eyes. She, like Flo, has all the tree lights reflecting in hers.

“I’m feeling  _ very _ festive,” he informs her.

In fact, he thinks it’s the most festive he’s ever felt. And he  _ loves _ Christmas. So that’s saying something.

*

_ Christmas #23 _

_ Cold Spring, New York _

“Wait, Mom! Where’s the apple?”

“Hey, no fair, Flo! You always hang the apple!”

“Well, you hung it last year!”

“Not true! Cici hung it last year.”

“It still wasn’t me, which means it should be my turn!”

“That’s not—”

Despite the audible chaos within, Reid peeks into the front living room. “Are we killing each other in here?”

Immediately, a barrage of complaints begins, from the unsatisfied customers (also known as his three daughters). “Daaaaad,” says Liv, who has stationed herself on the couch, right next to the freshly placed Christmas tree. She has a candy cane nightgown on, and her arms are folded with all the eleven-year-old sass she can muster. “Flo’s trying to hang the apple.”

“That’s not what I  _ meant _ ,” replies Flo, who looks like she’s trying to help Bri unbox their hefty-sized family ornament collection. To Reid, like she’s arguing before court, she remarks, “All I did was ask Mom where it was.”

“Well,” Bri remarks, pulling a little box out of Ornament Bin Number One Of Three (it’s labeled accordingly), “I have it right here.” She pauses, and looks between Flo and Liv to add, very pointedly, “But if we’re going to fight about it…”

“Can I put on the apple?” asks Cici, who is not engaged in all-out war with her sisters over it but does still seem interested. She’s wearing French braids in her hair, and Reid is pretty sure Flo did them for her. Flo’s latest career aspiration is being a cosmetologist. She gave him a makeover a few weeks ago. He still has the nail polish on from it.

Reid chooses his words carefully, lest he take a side in this diplomatic situation. “Why are we fighting over the apple, exactly?”

“It’s the first thing we put up,” Flo explains, like she’s thought out her argument, “so we can’t decorate anything else  _ until _ it’s up, which means we should do it now.”

“Well, hold on, Flo,” Bri eases— still, Reid notes, strategically not giving up the box with the apple inside. “We aren’t all here.”

“Uh, yeah…” Reid raises an eyebrow, as he realizes there aren’t enough people in this living room. “Where’s your brother?”

Disinterested, Liv waves her hand. “He’s by the stairs with Tucker.”

Reid glances that direction, but he can’t see the bottom of the stairs from outside the living room. “What,” he laughs, as he starts to walk that way, “did you just leave him over there?”

“He said he was coming,” Bri replies, which is slightly more reassuring, and when Reid rounds the corner, he does indeed find both his son and the dog. Harry loves Tucker, and is probably Tucker’s favorite resident of the Burke household; they’ve been tight since they brought Tucker home two years ago.

Right now, Harry is perched on the bottom step, with Tucker right in front of him, sitting and panting in his face. “Paw,” Harry instructs, and holds out his hand; Tucker gives him a high-five. Harry lights up, and scratches him behind the ear. “Good boy!”

“Hey, buddy,” Reid hums, as he approaches. “You gonna come help us with the tree?”

Harry tips his face up to him. He has a million freckles, like Bri, and Reid graced him with the fatherly gift of terrible eyesight, hence his big, circle-framed glasses. They’re almost a little big for his face, which adds to his four-year-old cute factor. “Flo and Livvy were fighting,” Harry explains, “so I went to see Tuck.”

Reid laughs, and sits down on the step next to him. He scratches Tucker at the ear just like Harry was doing, then remarks, “I think Mom got them to stop fighting.” He holds out a hand. “C’mon, we’re gonna decorate. You can have chocolate milk.”

This is a fantastic way to bribe any Burke child. Behind his glasses, Harry’s eyes get huge. “I can?”

Reid grins, and ruffles his hair. “Sure,” he replies. “For being festive.”

This is enough to win Harry over, so he leads him to the kitchen and fills his little plastic cup with Ovaltine, then piggybacks him back to the living room, where there is yet another commotion erupting. Tucker follows them, and lays in a favorite spot of his under the dining room table while they brave the living room.

Flo, Liv,  _ and _ Cici are yelling now, but Reid can’t tell exactly what the problem is. They’re all clustered at the window, so it appears the issue is no longer the apple. Bri is still going through ornaments on the floor.

He stops in the doorway. “I take it we’ve, uh, settled the apple predicament?”

“Dad! Harry!” Flo turns, and beckons them both to the window. “It’s  _ snowing _ !”

“Snowing?” Harry echoes, with his head right next to Reid’s ear.

“No way!” Reid cries, and looks over his shoulder to him. “You wanna see?”

“Yeah!” Harry says, waving his Ovaltine cup (thank God for twist lids), so Reid brings him to the window. It  _ is _ snowing— only a little, but still, it’s snowing— and while Flo squints at the sky, Liv puts her chin in her hands, and Cici bounces on the soles of her feet.

“Yeah, you’re right, Flo,” Reid remarks, looking out and up to the gray sky. It’s not accumulating, yet, but the skies look heavy, like it might turn into a bigger storm. “Good thing we don’t have to go anywhere tonight.”

“Hmm,” comes Bri’s voice from behind them, and when he looks back, she’s holding her phone, scrolling through something. “It looks like the forecast says three to five inches tonight!”

“ _ Yes _ !” cries Cici. “No school!”

Liv rolls her eyes at her sister. “Tomorrow’s Sunday, dummy.”

“Hey,” Bri scolds, “be nice, Olivia.”

Liv shrugs, then goes back to looking out the window. “Well, I’m just saying.”

“Maybe we can make a snowman,” Reid tells them, and points to the front yard. “That looks like a good spot for one, huh?”

Harry takes a break from sipping his Ovaltine to ask, “A Frosty?”

“No!” Cici protests. “An Olaf!”

“We could make two,” Bri suggests. When Reid looks over his shoulder, she’s joined them at the window. The snowflakes are already getting a little bigger, and the sky is dimming, like sunset is coming early.

“Good idea, Mom,” Reid replies, and she shrugs, flipping a little of her hair over her shoulder.

“Mom has all the best ideas,” she says, then hands him the small box she’s still holding, the one with the apple inside. “And here’s another one. Harry, do you want to hang the apple?”

“Awww,” comes Flo’s disappointment, and Liv goes, “ _ Boooo _ .”

“Be nice, you two,” Bri tells them. “Your brother’s never done it. One of you can do it next year.”

“Fine,” Flo sighs, and Liv rolls her eyes again, but doesn’t protest further.

Harry seems slightly more interested in his Ovaltine than the apple, but that’s okay. He’s four, and probably has some of Reid’s distractible tendencies. Reid pulls the apple ornament out, then holds it up to his eye level by his shoulder. “C’mon, Har,” he says. “I’ll help you.”

Harry hugs him around the neck, and God, Reid hopes this kid never grows out of giving his dad a hug. “Okay.”

Reid walks him to the tree, and lets Harry take the ribbon, but uses his own hand as a safety net to make sure it doesn’t get dropped. He scopes out a good, sturdy branch— since they got the place upstate, they’ve had  _ real _ Christmas trees in the winter, and that is some extremely festive shit if Reid says so himself— and then points it out for Harry. “That looks like a good one.”

Harry complies, and reaches out to hang it. Remarkably, he gets it on with little to no assistance. Reid grins at him when he’s done. “Good job, buddy!”

“Great,” Liv says, with all the impatience a hyperactive child can demonstrate. “Can we start  _ actually _ decorating now?”

Bri chuckles, and nods. “You can go ahead now, Liv. But be careful; don’t drop anything.”

Liv doesn’t need to be told twice. She digs into the box, and Flo follows suit. Cici is still a little mesmerized by the snow out the window, but she’ll catch on. Bri plays official decorating assistant, to ensure it happens in the least chaotic way possible. Reid looks to Harry, and grins at him to ask, “You wanna decorate with Dad?”

Harry nods, and says nothing, consumed by Ovaltine bliss.

“Alright.” Reid steps back from the tree, and smiles at the way the light catches the glass apple. It’s over twenty years old, but it’s still his favorite thing to hang on the tree.

The snow comes down steady, and they decorate away. On this winter’s night, Reid has nowhere to be but warm, festive, and happy at home.


	4. on-campus festivities

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another textpost cross-post from my Tumblr for day 4!  
> [PROMPT: Here's how your Kiersey friends survive the end of fall semester: by making campus festive!](https://sincerelyreidburke.tumblr.com/post/636586529989476352/how-your-kiersey-friends-survive-the-end-of-fall)

In normal college times, the stretch between Thanksgiving break and the end of fall semester finals is an extremely festive time of year. Or at least it is on my college’s campus, and I’m projecting that festivity onto Kiersey.

What you’ll find below: the ways in which all the “main” characters of the Kiersey-verse celebrate that festive few weeks on campus.............

**Nando:** He occupies the Beech Street kitchen like it’s a damn military outpost (but not nearly as strict), and whips out every holiday recipe from home that he can manage. This means baking— Christmas conchas and marranitos especially— but not only baking. There’s a lot of, like, soup and stew going on. Red pozole, and chicken pozole verde...... (I am hungry typing this up) and also, this host of cooking wouldn’t be complete without Nando’s papa’s hot chocolate recipe. He makes it many times for his teammates and Quinn. Because Nando has such a thing about feeding the people he loves and cares about, he wants to make sure all his friends from Kiersey experience the true wonder of a Hernandez family Christmas.

**Remy:** Remy is a _huge_ fan of pond hockey, so he goes out to skate any chance he gets on the one pond on campus. He can and will do this by himself, but he invites friends along too. You’re lying to yourself if you don’t think Remy “raging Canadian” Tremblay isn’t 100% in his element out on a frozen pond in skates, a winter hat, gloves, his Olympic Team Canada windbreaker, and track pants. So, yes, he does take himself out on skating dates. He works on his shot, his speed, and stick handling. But like I said, he’s not always alone. One time, he invites the team out for a game of shinny and it starts snowing, so it devolves into a KMH snowball fight. Another time, he invites Kai and gets ready to laugh at xir the whole time because Kai makes it out like xe can’t skate, and then Kai invites him to race, and it turns out Kai is a former figure skater and xe’s extremely fast. Remy is shook.

**Ben:** (Sigh) Although this is extremely characteristic of Ben Shaley, I do not approve of his life choices. Ben has a personal holiday tradition called the 12 Days of Lay. It’s exactly what it sounds like, but I’ll explain it to you anyway. In the 12 days leading up to the end of the semester, Ben tries to hook up every single day. He does this by showing up at random parties. Yes, I hate him. Yes, he makes terrible decisions. Yes, he’s a thot. Thanks for your time.

**Quinn:** First of all, he knits like a crazy person. Sophomore year, he makes matching blue and gold pom-pom hats for the entire hockey team (this requires some pre-planning, but he does it nonetheless), and he gives them to the boys right before their last game of the semester. He knits other things, too, in various holiday themes. He and Nando try to watch as many Christmas movies as they can in the short window of time post-Thanksgiving and pre-winter break, because Quinn never watched holiday movies growing up, and Nando gives him his first education in them, and then it becomes a tradition for them.

**Cole:** True story: every year, the drama club hosts a little holiday talent show, and every year without fail, Cole goes up and sings [the Adam Sandler Hanukkah song](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DKX5Z-HpHH9g&t=MjNiZWE1NWVlZGQwOGJlNmIyZmMyNjQ4OGFjNGFlZjg1YzA2MDg0Myw0NjM0YmEzNTY5MDllYWY3ZTU3MDhiYjk0Y2M0MTQyOTkwZjA3NWRl&ts=1607096225). Yes, he plays his own guitar. Yes, he wears the ugly Hanukkah sweater that Quinn made for him. He might even wear his kippah? I’m not sure, but either way, he gets a real kick out of himself. I would also say “Cole teaches his Christmas-celebrating friends Hanukkah traditions,” but Cole barely has friends, so, uh. I mean, he could teach them to Reid? Except one of Reid’s roommates/“boys” from his graduating year is also Jewish, and Reid probably already knows. Come to think of it, Cole probably hangs out with Jake. But anyway.

**Reid:** He has a pair of Christmas socks for each separate day. You think I exaggerate, but I assure you, I do not. And [as we saw yesterday](https://sincerelyreidburke.tumblr.com/post/636507208372387840/mel-please-give-us-burke-children-decorating-the), Reid is a big fan of Christmas decorations. He puts a [plastic] tree up in his campus residence, Duffy Hall apartment 3, which we saw a brief glimpse into during yesterday’s installment of the 25 Days. Duff 3 goes hard at the holidays, and it probably includes some good parties.

**Bri:** In collaboration with her fellow Art Students, she participates in a big fundraiser where they sell art designed to be holiday gifts. They do this on campus, but probably also out in the actual community of Kiersey, which is a (fictional) medium-sized town. Bri makes a lot of vases, dishware, and other ceramic stuff, plus stuff in the glass studio. The students donate some of the proceeds to charity, and use some to help fund their department. Also, Christmas leggings are to Bri what socks are to her boyfriend.

**Jhiron:** I know we don’t really see Jhiron all that much, but I want to include him on this list because he’s one of the few members of the Kiersey cast who actively celebrates an “uncommon” or at least uncommercialized winter holiday, which is Kwanzaa. He’s Muslim, but Kwanzaa is cultural rather than religious, so he celebrates it both at home and a little on campus. It doesn’t actually start until after Christmas, but he’s really active in the Kiersey Black Student Union (his girlfriend, Jazzy, is the president of it their senior year), and they have this really nice African holiday festival in collaboration with the campus multicultural center. It involves food, traditions, et cetera, and takes place right before everybody leaves.

**Maggie:** Maggie is the online shopping _queen_. She capitalizes on Cyber Monday deals, and times all her shopping so that gifts for friends will come in before they all leave for break. She’s extremely thoughtful and also extremely stylish, and there’s glitter on the wrapping for pretty much every present she hands out. She’s not a “DIY gift” kind of person— but she will gift you something that corresponds to your _exact_ aesthetic, every time. She has an eye for stuff like that. She likes doing Yankee swaps and stuff for similar reasons.

**Kai:** I actually don’t know that Kai is big on celebrating any one winter holiday, _but_ I don’t think that that means xe is against festivities, and I know for a fact that xe would decorate xir lizard’s tank. With, like, little lights around the sides. And Leonardo (the lizard in question) gets some kind of festive hat. He only keeps it on for about two seconds, but it’s long enough for Kai to get his picture and set it as xir profile picture on everything for the duration of the holiday season. Also, skating with Remy, as I mentioned earlier.

**Claire:** She does campus-wide caroling with the Kiersey acapella group, which is a real student organization that exists, despite my lack of mentioning it to this point. I think there’s probably some crossover with theatre kids, as in, a handful of them are in it, and Claire sticks out as someone who definitely would do it. Anyway. They go caroling from dorm to dorm during finals. Claire brings cookies for her acapella friends. They all wear Santa hats. It’s great fun.

**Ellie:** Because she is, at heart, a very outdoorsy person, Ellie helps decorate the exterior of campus. Like, hanging lights on trees and stuff? She also encourages her friends to participate in various outdoorsy activities such as building a snowman, which lives outside her apartment for a few days until some drunk football players knock it down, and then Ellie gets super pissed and re-makes the snowman passive-aggressively, and basically just keeps this up until the end of the semester. A hopeless romantic at heart, Ellie daydreams about having a girlfriend who will make snow angels, go on skating dates, and watch festive movies with her. When she actually does get a girlfriend, she does all these things with her accordingly.

**Teegs:** He throws the most raging, wild holiday parties you ever did see. Anyone who gets within a 10-foot radius of the house on Beech Street from after Thanksgiving until the end of the semester risks getting covered in fake snow confetti, being forced to play some kind of Christmas drinking game, and, of course, having their eardrums blown out by Teegs’ Christmas music. He has sunglasses with fun rims, like [this..........](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.toynk.com%2Fcollections%2Fcostume-glasses-1%2Fproducts%2Fchristmas-reindeer-costume-sunglasses&t=YmExODY3OGJlZTY5OWNkZmM3ODgwNDgxNjY3NTQ3YWQyM2VhYzAyZCwxMGIzOTFlNGQxMGNkYWI2Y2RjNzk1MGMyYmZhZGE1ZmUxMTcwNmUx&ts=1607096225)


	5. shaley christmas eve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 5 of 25, a turning point in Ben's post-college life, which happens to take place at the holidays. I must warn you before this one begins: you're about to read the story of how Ben comes out to his family. Of all my OCs in this universe, Ben comes from one of the less welcoming families, and you'll see that reflected very clearly in what follows. There's no physical harm at all, and most of the bigotry is passive-aggressive, but most of Ben's family (particularly his mom) are blatantly homophobic and transphobic. They make that very clear in this fic, and the necessary angst from that rejection follows.
> 
> In short: this is Ben accidentally ruining family Christmas at his parents' house. By no fault of his own. Read at your own risk.
> 
> [PROMPT: So…. have you ever wondered how/when Ben comes out to his family?](https://sincerelyreidburke.tumblr.com/post/636691605039071233/so-have-you-ever-wondered-howwhen-ben-comes-out)

_three years after Ben’s graduation, at Christmas_

When Ben gets to his parents' house on Christmas Eve, he has no intention of ruining the holiday for everyone.

Like, sure, it’s a little _weird_ — being at his parents’ house always is, now that he and his siblings are adults or at least young adults, and given the fact that he feels more and more out of place in his family with every passing year. But family is family, and he’s long since used to the rich Shaley family tradition of asking uncomfortable questions, having really specific expectations, and being passively disappointed in you if you don’t fulfill said expectations. Ben is a grown ass man, twenty-five years old, and he knows how it goes under his parents’ roof.

So on Christmas Eve, he shows up ready to please. He wears a nice sweater, partly because Mom bought it for him last year and partly to cover his ever-growing host of tattoos (he’ll only get shit for it if he leaves them uncovered). He packs a bag, and bids Cole goodbye at the door of his apartment. “I’ll see you tomorrow night,” he tells him, and grins as he adds, “Don’t throw a party without me.”

Cole is in sweats and a beanie, ready to chill out for the night. He rises on tiptoe to give him a kiss, then replies, “Try to survive family Christmas.”

Ben laughs a little. At the time, it feels okay to laugh. He has no idea what’s in store for him tonight. “Yeah, I’ll try.”

The drive across Providence, from Greene Street to his childhood home, is about fifteen minutes long. It’s a cold night, with a few inches of snow on the ground but none in the forecast. He hasn’t been at his parents’ place since Thanksgiving, four weeks ago, and when he pulls into the driveway, he’s nearly blinded by the aggressive display of Christmas lights they’ve put up in his absence. Brenda Shaley does not fuck around when it comes to Christmas.

His two sisters’ cars are already in the driveway, and his parents’ and Joey’s are in the garage, which means he’s blocking everybody in when he parks, but it’s fine. He takes his overnight bag from the passenger’s seat, and his bag of various family presents in the other hand, then allows himself one long, deep breath before he heads up to the front door.

At the time, he’s confident he can handle one stupid family holiday. He’s handled twenty-five years of them.

Mom meets him at the door, almost right after he knocks, like she’s been waiting for him. She’s wearing her Mrs. Claus cooking apron, and jingle bell earrings. “Merry Christmas, Benny,” she says, and wraps him in a hug before she adds, “You’re late! I was just about to call you.”

Ben furrows his brow, and when she releases him, glances at his watch. It’s 6:01. “I thought you said six o’clock?”

Mom looks at his watch face, too, for a second, and then shrugs. “I just wanted to make sure you were still coming!”

He wants to ask why he wouldn’t be coming, but decides to shrug it off. Hostess Brenda Shaley is a force; it’s best not to get in her way.

Dad, his sisters, Joey, and his brother-in-law meet him quickly after that, all gathered either in the living room or kitchen. It’s a small crowd tonight, but they’re going over his grandparents’ tomorrow for breakfast after church. Christmas Eve dinner has always been a Shaley household thing. Emma’s husband Matt, the newest inductee, has been coming since they got engaged four years ago.

The period before dinner is chill. Emma helps Mom in the kitchen, and Ben sits on the couch by the tree with Joey. He texts Joey regularly, but feels like a shitty big brother for not having seen him since Thanksgiving. Then again, being a college student, it’s not like Joey has been home. “How’s the season going?” he asks him.

Joey grins from ear to ear. He’s wearing a bright blue sweatshirt with _KIERSEY HOCKEY_ in gold lettering, and if his messy black hair were about ten inches longer, Ben would say he looks a lot like himself as a college freshman. “We’re four and one.”

“Hey, not too bad, man.” Ben fist-bumps him. “How many times do I have to ask for your game schedule before I just show up unannounced at one of them?”

Joey rolls his eyes. “You know you can just look for it online, right?”

“Yeah,” he replies, “but why would I do that when I have a member of KMH sitting right next to me?”

Joey sighs, and pulls his phone out of his pocket. “Okay, okay. I’ll text it to you.”

Ben gives him a noogie. “It’s about time.” Joey laughs and ducks away in protest, but within another twenty or so seconds, Ben’s phone buzzes, and he is the proud owner of a Kiersey Men’s Hockey spring semester schedule.

“I miss playing,” he tells Joey. “You should be grateful while it lasts.”

Joey rolls his eyes again, but he’s still grinning. “You could still play,” he says. “Just join an old man league.”

Then, from the kitchen— “Attention, men and lazy woman!” While Abby— who’s talking to Matt and Dad— groans at the dig, Brenda pokes her head into the living room doorway and waves a spatula at them. “Dinner!” she cries.

Dad slaps his knees before he stands, in true dad fashion. “Let’s eat!” he declares, and then joins Mom in the doorway to add, “It smells amazing, honey.”

This, actually, is true— Christmas Eve dinner is no exception to the _Brenda Shaley doesn’t fuck around_ rule, and she pulls out all the stops of Italian cooking for the yearly spectacle. This year’s pasta of choice is lasagna, and Ben is genuinely looking forward to it. “Yeah, this looks so good, Mom,” he tells her, as they’re all sitting down at the table.

Mom smiles. Her cheeks are rosy like in a Christmas rhyme. “Thank you, Ben.”

Dinner is normal, to start. Dad asks Matt about how things are going at his construction firm, and from there, the conversation devolves into a solid twenty minutes of spirited baby discussion. Emma is due mid-January, but Ben swears she could pop out their firstborn any day now, by the look of her belly. He’s definitely looking forward to being an uncle for the first time, but no one is more excited than Future Nana Brenda.

Anyway. Shaley Grandbaby #1 is a good source of dinner discussion, because it keeps everyone focused on things that aren’t Ben and why he isn’t married yet.

Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end. When Emma has exhausted her baby talk for the moment, and Matt his work talk, and Joey has said a few words in the way of college updates, and Abby somehow gets to escape talking about herself entirely because she’s not quite old enough for Real Adulting yet but not in college anymore either— when all of that is done, _that’s_ when the trouble begins.

Because that’s when Brenda serves herself another piece of lasagna, and refills her glass with red wine, and lights up as she looks at Ben across the table. “Oh! Benny, I forgot to tell you.”

His first mistake is not immediately putting his guard up. He’s actually in an extremely zen place right then— a glass of wine deep, enjoying a good meal, and generally warm and contented. He’s ready to have a good rest of the night. So he nods across the table at Mom, and asks, “What’s up?”

“Well, you know Mrs. McCaskey, from church?” As she’s talking, Ben tries his hardest— and tries earnestly— to know who she’s talking about. He might have known Mrs. McCaskey when he was younger, but since moving out, he goes to church twice a year, thanks to Brenda’s family peer pressuring on Christmas and Easter, and so his memory escapes him. She must be able to see the lack of recognition of his face, because she gives him a knowing smile and shakes her head. “Oh, come on, Benjamin. Yes, you do. Mr. and Mrs. McCaskey? They sit in the third row every Sunday.”

She says this like he still goes to Sunday mass, when she knows he does not. After a second, she shrugs, and continues, “Well, anyways. I ran into Linda— Mrs. McCaskey— at the community breakfast after Mass last weekend, and we got to talking about her daughter. You remember Kayleigh, don’t you? She was a year below you in school.”

Ben actually _does_ remember Kayleigh, just barely— but they were acquaintances, and that’s generous. He isn’t sure he knows anything about her except a vague memory of what she looked like in the eleventh grade. “Uh,” he says, very eloquently. “Yeah, I think so?”

He should see where this is going, and yet it still takes him by surprise when Mom gets to the point of her very motherly scheme. “Well, she’s back in town,” she informs him, like this is huge, breaking news. “She was at grad school in upstate New York— Syracuse, I think, or was it Clarkson?— well, _anyways_ , she started this fall as a special educator at Pleasant View Elementary. Isn’t that nice?”

“Uh… sure?”

“And I was telling her you’re still living in the area, and we got to thinking it would be so nice for the two of you go to out to dinner and catch up.”

 _Oh_. There’s the punch line. Ben thinks he does a good job of hiding his actual reaction, which is somewhere between a grimace and immediate internal panic. Maybe he can talk his way out of this. He’s done plenty of similar things before. And this would not be the first time his parents tried to set him up with a nice, hometown girl. “What, like…” He pauses. “To catch up on ten years?”

“Why not?” Brenda lifts her wine glass, and smiles. “Wouldn’t it be nice to see her?”

He looks to Dad, but he’s more interested in the lasagna than this conversation. Mom usually spearheads all the family’s ideas for how Ben should run his life. “Mom,” he says, “I, uh… I barely even knew Kayleigh.”

“Well, there wouldn’t be any harm in getting to know her,” Mom replies, still with that wide smile. “And besides, they’re a really nice family, honey. I remember how cute Kayleigh used to be, singing in the kids’ choir on Christmas Eve.” She nudges Dad. “Remember that, Paul?”

Dad grunts through his lasagna. (Spectacular contribution, Paul. Very cool.)

“So…” He tries to read between the lines, while he field’s Mom’s hopeful smile. Emma and Matt seem interested in the conversation, but Joey is paying more attention to his garlic bread, and Abby’s eyes are averted. “What are you saying?” Ben asks her.

Mom shrugs. “I’m saying, I’ll give you her number, and you can take her to dinner!”

“Like…” He doesn’t like where this is going. “Like a date.”

“Well, yes, like a date, Benjamin,” she replies, laughing like it’s obvious. “What could possibly be so bad about meeting a nice girl?”

There are so many things. Starting with the bespectacled, awkward, fantastic man back home on Ben’s apartment couch. No doubt binge-watching Netflix, and probably eating the discount Christmas chocolate Ben bought him this morning. Overwhelmingly, and all at once, Ben wishes he were there instead of here.

But for his family, he keeps his guard up. “Well… I’m not really looking for a relationship right now.”

“And why is that, exactly?” It’s not _as_ accusatory as it could be, but Mom does seem confused. Frustrated, maybe. “You’re twenty-five, Benny. At your age, your father and I—”

“I know, I know.” He’s heard this spiel before. “I guess I just… don’t have that much time. Work’s busy, y’know?”

“You can’t let your life pass you by, Ben,” Dad chimes in, which— great, just great, that he finally decides to participate in conversation when Ben least wants him to. “If it’s all work and no time for yourself…”

“It isn’t,” Ben assures him, and then eats a bite of lasagna to avoid getting any snarkier than he already has. While he chews, Abby continues to be the least problematic member of the Shaley household.

“Anyone want more salad?” she asks, lifting the tongs from the bowl of Caesar for demonstration. She even clicks them together a few times, and adds, “I can dish it out.”

“I’m okay, but thank you, Abigail,” Mom replies.

Joey picks up his plate. “I’ll have some,” he says, brightly. “Thanks, Abs.”

Ben is stupid enough to feel relieved, at this Caesar-y interruption. He thinks it means he’s free— but he thinks too soon. “Your dad’s right, Ben,” Matt chimes in, completely unnecessarily, like he has some kind of authority over him just for being two years older, married, an expecting father, and basically all the things Ben’s parents expect him to be right now. “It’s the perfect time to get out there and meet people. You could thank yourself for it.”

Mom smiles at Matt like she couldn’t be prouder, then gives Ben a pointed look. “See?”

Ben eats another bite of lasagna.

“Why not, Ben?” Mom presses. “I already told Linda, er— Mrs. McCaskey, I told her you’d love to see Kayleigh.”

His stomach sinks. “Mom,” he says, and tries so hard not to sound forceful, “why would you sign me up to do something before asking me about it?”

“Because I knew it’d be good for you,” she replies, as stubborn as ever, and he groans. He’s all out of lasagna to stall with.

“Mom,” he repeats, and sighs. “You can’t set things up for me like I’m twelve years old. I’m _really_ not looking to go on dates right now. Tell her you’re sorry, but I can’t.”

“Don’t be difficult, Ben,” Dad says. _Thanks_ , Paul. Very helpful.

“I’m not being difficult,” he retorts. “I’m just saying that I’m a grown-ass man, and I don’t want to—”

“ _Benjamin_ ,” Mom hisses, “ _language_ at the dinner table.”

“I’m sorry.” He holds up his hands, in surrender, and tries to ignore the way his heart wants to pound out of his chest right now. “I just can’t go. I’m sorry if Kayleigh was expecting me to.”

Mom frowns, and puts a hand to her heart, all faux-sympathetic. “She’ll be so sad,” she remarks. “I know she was looking forward to getting out for once—”

“My _God_ , Mom,” he mumbles, keeping his voice at a steady groan so it won’t sound heated, “I barely even know who you’re talking about.”

“Kayleigh _is_ nice, Ben,” Emma says, raising her eyebrows pointedly. “She was always really sweet in church youth group.”

 _Ah_. There’s the real reason they want him to go out with her. If she’s a woman of God, she’d be the perfect addition to the Shaley in-law collection. Ben takes a deep breath. He wants so badly to defuse the situation, to just get them to change the subject, like he’s always been able to. This is how he deflects these kinds of conversations. It is not a new skill. He just has to actually do it—

“Actually, Abby,” he says, “I think I also want some more salad.”

Abby holds out her hand for his plate. “I’ll dish you up.”

“Thanks,” he replies, and makes two seconds of extremely desperate eye contact with her over the top of his plate as he passes it. She looks sympathetic, but lost for solutions— or so he thinks. Because just as she’s dishing him out more salad, she tips her head nonchalantly and goes, “Dad, the lights on the house look great this year.”

Dad chuckles. “Thanks, Abby,” he says. “I had to use a ladder. Your mother nearly had a stroke. Told me I’d fall. But Joey helped, right, sport?”

Joey grins and rolls his eyes, then, to Ben and Abby, says, “Yeah, helped him not break his back.”

Dad and Abby laugh, and Ben manages to force something out that might resemble a laugh, too. When Abby passes him his plate back, he tries to convey his gratitude with a look. He’s digging into the salad when it becomes clear that Mom isn’t done.

“Benjamin,” she says, in a very exasperated voice, “would it kill you to go out to dinner?”

Here is where Ben makes his fatal mistake: something inside of him snaps, and he does not filter it out when he speaks. “ _Mom_ ,” he says, and the words tumble out before he can stop them, like maybe it’ll finally just shut his family up about his fucking dating life. “I cannot go on a date with your church friend, because I’m seeing somebody.”

It sucks all the air out of the room. His words hover over the table, and he can’t take them back. Abby’s face goes white— his most trusted sibling, she knows the truth, sees the danger in what he’s just said— but the others’ reactions are almost the opposite.

Joey speaks first. He slaps the table, and shoots Ben a gleeful smile. “Say _what_?”

“Benjamin!” Mom cries. She’s smiling, which is a misplaced expression beyond what she can even fathom. “Why didn’t you say so?”

“Way to go, Ben,” Dad says, and does another Dad Chuckle. “She cute?”

“Ben, you didn’t tell me you had a _girlfriend_ ,” Emma adds.

He meets Abby’s eyes for a split second. She looks like she’s trying to mask her fear, and she offers a meager, “Wait, you are?”

Oh, boy.

“How long?” Mom presses, and he _really_ should not have said this, because now he’s going to be interviewed like a Goddamned political candidate. Jesus _Christ_. “How long have you been seeing her?”

The pronouns sting. Sure, he’s dated plenty of girls, but Cole is distinctly not one, and to hear him misgendered even unknowingly, and in his absence, is like nails on a chalkboard.

“Uh.” He tries to have a bite of salad while he thinks, which just makes it worse.

“I call bullshit,” Joey laughs. “You’re making this up.”

“C’mon, Ben, tell us! What’s her name?”

“Do we know her?”

“Is she from here?”

“Benny.” Mom is a lot happier than she was three minutes ago, but she’s still a mom on a mission, out to dig information from him if she has to pickaxe his brain. It is _never_ good to get caught in a Shaley family questioning barrage. It’s how he wound up having to tell his parents he’d lost his virginity, which got him grounded for a month in high school. And that’s just one example.

“How long?” Mom repeats. “Have you been seeing somebody?”

He is completely fucking backed into a corner, by his own doing. “Since February.”

This is cause for the table to erupt again. “ _February_?!”

Joey slaps the table again. “ _Yoooooo_!”

“ _Ten months_ , and you’ve never mentioned her?”

“Ben, how serious _is_ this?”

“Why’d you keep her from us?”

“Guys,” he groans, pressing his hands to his temples. “It’s— it’s not what you think.”

Mom narrows her eyes. “What do you mean, it’s not what we think?”

“I _mean_ ,” he says, and, like, fuck it, now he’s really in this— “I mean you won’t like it.”

“We won’t like it?” she echoes, and at least two diners’ enthusiasm dissolves, hers and Emma’s. Matt and Dad look more confused, as does Joey. Abby has become extremely interested in the light fixture over the table.

Mom leans forward, like a police interrogator. “What do you mean, we won’t like it?”

Ben winces. The warm, festive embrace of the house feels more like a chokehold now. Even Mom’s jingle bell earrings are menacing. “I mean you won’t like it,” he replies, simply, “so let’s drop it, okay?”

“Uh-uh-uh,” she says, and wags her finger for emphasis. “You don’t get to drop it. Why do you think we won’t like your girlfriend?”

“Aw, Ben.” Emma frowns, but it’s not really a judgey frown, more like a frown that feels bad for him. “Is she not Christian?”

Ben can’t help it— he laughs. It’s more like a snort than an actual laugh, and when he looks up to Emma, her patronizing confusion has intensified. “No,” he replies, and hopes his words don’t bite as much as he wishes they could. “No, they’re not Christian.”

“Well, that’s what RCIA is for,” Brenda says, encouragingly, and Ben actually, physically groans. “Don’t give me that lip, Ben. RCIA is a good program.”

Oh, it’s a great program. Catholic education for adults: A rite of passage for anyone who wants to marry into the Shaley family but dares not to be Catholic.

“Sorry,” he mutters, and takes a generous sip of bad, dry wine.

“I don’t think you are,” Mom remarks, resting her chin in her hand. “And I don’t appreciate your attitude, for the record. You don’t get to bring up having a girlfriend and then refuse to talk about her.”

“Well, I’m _telling_ you you won’t like the person I’m dating,” he insists, “so could we please just stop it?”

“Ben, what’s the worst it could be?” Mom sounds equal parts exasperated and desperate. “That she, I don’t know, has tattoos? I may be old, but I’m not _that_ old.”

“Yes— Jesus Christ, Mom, yes, they have tattoos, but that’s not the point okay?”

“ _Language_ , Benjamin.”

“Sorry. I’m sorry. I just—”

And then Joey, with his mouth full, asks the question of the evening. “Why do you keep saying ‘they’?”

Ben’s stomach tightens, and he feels frozen in his seat. He hesitates too long, and when he doesn’t give Joey an answer, Mom joins the party. “You aren’t dating one of those gender-fluids, are you?” She grimaces, and he can’t tell what’s worse— the look on her face or the contemptuous tone. It gets worse when she adds, “You wouldn’t,” because of _course_ she thinks there’s no way her good, traditionalist family could _ever_ have a queer person in it, of fucking _course_ she assumes that about him when she barely knows anything about him at all anymore—

He has to keep a level head. “What do you mean by that?”

“Oh, you know…” Mom pauses, and drinks her wine. “On Facebook? Those people who don’t think gender is real? It’s usually just girls having a phase.” She waits, like she _knows_ this is hurting him, or maybe his own mother really is that ignorant, but _God_ , either way his face is hot and his heart is pounding and he’s lost his entire appetite. “Aren’t they called _thems_?”

Every eye at the table is on him— save Abby’s; she’s still looking at her plate. And Ben, despite how horribly sick he feels, realizes he has a choice to make.

He can lie his way out of this, the way he’s done countless times before with his family, masking his queerness through all of high school and college and adulthood up to now. He can keep pretending to be someone he’s not, keep sidestepping his family and leaving out key parts of himself when he catches them up on his life. He can do that. It would be hard, but he could.

But.

He’s gotten himself this far into this conversation. Dinner is already uncomfortable. He already feels so fucking suffocated by this house. He’s dealt with enough. Years and years of beating himself down, of suppressing his identity, of trying to fit into his parents’ perfect little bubble, of being the Ben they want him to be.

No more. He can’t do this. He makes a decision. One long breath in, and there’s no turning back. “Actually, I’ve dated a good handful of _thems_ , Mom.” He flashes a bright, cordial smile across the table. It would fit right in among her fake church friends. “And _hers_ , and actually _hims_ , too.” He picks up his wine. “I’m dating a him. Right now. If you really have to know.”

In the dining room, you could hear a pin drop. Except for the faint sound of the TV in the living room, there’s nothing. Nothing but the waiting. When the silence breaks, it’s Mom setting her wine glass down. “Lying isn’t becoming of you, Ben,” she says, all business, like she’d rather believe it’s a joke than believe it’s true. “I just want to know about the girl you’re dating. I don’t understand why you’re being so difficult.”

Ben groans and palms his face. Talk about difficult. “Because I’m not dating a fucking girl, Mom,” he replies, crumpling his napkin and tossing it onto his salad plate. “I just told you. Why is it so hard for you to comprehend that?”

Nothing. Just the TV. Just a bunch of wide eyes, a bunch of Shaley faces. He can’t take this fucking silence anymore. “I’m gay,” he blurts, and it’s a rush the opposite of relief. “Pansexual, actually.”

Dad knits his brows. Joey folds his arms. Brenda tears up like a five-year-old child.

“Benny,” she whispers, and shakes her head. “No.”

He sighs into his hand. Across the table, all he can offer is a forceful, loud, exhausted, “ _Yes_ , Mom.”

That’s about where the night starts to _really_ go to shit.

*

Cole is almost asleep, when his phone goes off.

It scares him, actually. He’s on the couch under a blanket, in the chillest, most half-asleep haze, and it starts vibrating somewhere in his cocoon. He jumps, and feels around for it— no, it’s not under his leg, and it’s not between the cushions, where’d it— _oh_ , it’s in his sweatshirt pocket. He draws it out, and Ben’s name is on the screen.

He blinks, and pushes his glasses up his nose. It’s 7:02— Ben should be in the middle of dinner. Cole is more than a little buzzed, thanks to a joint he smoked earlier that he was going to just sleep off, but he can’t, like, _not_ answer the phone. Ben won’t be mad if he’s high, anyway.

So he picks up, and turns down the TV, tuned to the home shopping network for background noise to his sesh. “Hullo?”

Ben’s line sounds distant, like how it sounds in his car over Bluetooth— but that wouldn’t be right. There’s no voice, just that white noise. Cole wonders if he got butt-dialed. “B?”

And then— a quiet, strained version of Ben. “Hey, baby.”

Uh-oh.

“Hey—” Cole sits forward on the couch, straightens his glasses again. “Hey, are you okay?”

Ben doesn’t really answer the question. He hesitates for a long time again, and then there’s a sniffle, and he says, “I’m, uh— I’m on my way home.”

“What?” In a matter of ten seconds, Cole has gone from feeling almost zonked out to stone cold sober. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

“Uh—” Ben stops again. It’s like he has to gather strength to speak. “Dinner— didn’t go well.”

Cole isn’t sure he’s ever actually heard him cry, but there’s no doubt that’s what this is, and listening to it _hurts_ , especially not knowing _why_ , so he presses further. “What happened?” he repeats.

Ben waits. He sniffles. All he says is, “I’m almost home.”

It’s obvious he doesn’t want this to be a phone conversation— but his vagueness puts a pit of awful dread in Cole’s stomach, and he grabs the back of his neck, bobs his heel up and down. “Okay, well— drive safely?”

“I will,” Ben repeats, and then, after another pause, “Home in—” Sniffle. “Home in five minutes.”

“Okay.” Cole tightens his grip on the phone. His heartbeat is accelerating rapidly. _Fuck_ , what happened at his parents’ house? “I love you,” he tells him.

Ben lets out this strangled, awful noise, something so unlike himself. “I love you, too.”

Five minutes later, when the front door opens, Cole is waiting by it, pacing. He’s been through every awful scenario in his head over the past five minutes— the longest five of his life, he thinks— but nothing can prepare him for the version of his boyfriend who walks through that door.

Because here’s the thing about Ben: he is always, always confident. He’s not always _happy_ , but always tries to be positive. He lifts other people’s spirits. He’s boisterous, funny, and loud.

Tonight, the Ben who walks through the door looks… _broken_.

He has his overnight bag, and his face is red and streaked. When he meets Cole’s eyes over the threshold, he wells up as if for the first time, and he doubles over, drops his bag as he falls forward to cry. Cole catches him, and holds on tight.

“Hey, baby,” Ben says, in the same small voice from the phone call, and then he’s crying into his shoulder, and Cole has no idea what happened but he has never, _ever_ , in the nine years he’s known him, seen him like this—

“Ben,” he whispers, wrapping his arms around his back, moving one hand up to tangle in his hair. “Love, what happened?”

Ben cries for a minute more, and squeezes him tighter; Cole is confident that if he wanted to, he could crush him. He doesn’t tonight— he just holds on. Cole strokes the base of his bun, and waits.

“Your family?” he asks, and Ben says nothing, but nods, with his face still in his shoulder. Cole waits for the worst, but nothing comes. He tries one of his terrible theories. “Did they… find out about—”

“Not you,” Ben says, his voice still a little strangled when he lifts his head. “I didn’t say it was you, baby, just— about _me_ ,” he adds, and then— then Cole understands.

One way or another, Ben came out to his parents. And given he wasn’t _planning_ that tonight…

“Oh, love,” Cole whispers, and pulls him back in to hold tight.

They wind up on the floor. It’s mainly because Cole isn’t sure he can reliably hold up Ben’s steadily increasing body weight, and it’s just easier to hold him down there anyway. He takes his hair out of the elastic, lets it fall down the back of his sweater, and smooths it while he cries. It’s— fucking heartbreaking, and Cole doesn’t know the details, but he doesn’t have to. He knows it was bad. He never really expected it not to be, from Ben’s family.

 _Fuck_. Cole can’t fix this. He holds his head to his chest, and tells him, “I’m here. I’m right here, B.”

He can’t do anything but be here.


	6. ace gang ft. leonardo (winter break edition)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 6 of 25, a glimpse into winter break at home in Quebec City with Remy. Except this also features our other favorite French-Canadian Kiersey student......... wholesome friendship content ahead.  
> Kai is Remy’s best friend outside the hockey team. Xe’s a fellow history major, French-Canadian, and aro/ace person. [Click here to see more about Kai!](https://sincerelyreidburke.tumblr.com/tagged/lizard-keeper/chrono)
> 
> [PROMPT: Kai and Remy hang out over winter break.](https://sincerelyreidburke.tumblr.com/post/636777337616220160/its-a-very-french-canadian-day-6-for-the-next)

_ winter break of Remy’s freshman year _

_ December 13th _

_ iMessage _

_ Kai Boudreaux: Hey! _

_ Kai Boudreaux: How’s your break going? _

_ Remy Tremblay: Hi, it’s good! _

_ Remy Tremblay: Kind of boring, so far, but that’s okay _

_ Remy Tremblay: I’m glad to have a break from worrying about my grades _

_ Kai Boudreaux: Loool definitely same here about the grades _

_ Remy Tremblay: Hows yours? _

_ Remy Tremblay: How’s Leonardo _

_ Kai Boudreaux sent a photo _

_ Kai Boudreaux: As majestic as ever _

_ Remy Tremblay loved a photo _

_ Kai Boudreaux: 🦎🦎🦎 _

_ Kai Boudreaux: I’m sooooo bored at home _

_ Kai Boudreaux: I was thinking, we should hang out! _

Remy looks up from his phone.

He doesn’t want to say that he’s  _ surprised _ that a person actually wants to hang out with him outside of school. After all, he doesn’t live under a rock  _ all _ the time. He  _ has  _ socialized in his life before. It’s just that he didn’t know that Kai considered him that kind of friend. This is  _ Kai _ — who is a year ahead of him, really involved in the history program, and took him under xir wing for no reason this semester except xe observed him floundering at speaking English. He didn’t think xe thought of him as much more than xir seatmate in history major seminar. Sure, they were friendly this semester, and they hung out outside of class, but he didn’t think he was worthy of— well, anyway.

He types a text back.

_ Remy Tremblay: You want to hang out? _

_ Kai Boudreaux: Yeah! _

_ Kai Boudreaux: I’m less than 90 minutes drive from you _

_ Kai Boudreaux: PLUS I have a present for you!! _

_ Kai Boudreaux: I looooove quebec city at holiday time _

_ Remy Tremblay: So you want to come here? _

_ Kai Boudreaux: Well, I have a car… and no offense to myself, but I’m pretty sure quebec city has a lot more to offer than my town, lol _

_ Kai Boudreaux: Plus, if I go to you, my brother won’t annoy us _

_ Remy Tremblay: Okay _

_ Remy Tremblay: That sounds fun _

_ Remy Tremblay: You coming here, not your brother being annoying _

_ Remy Tremblay: Hahaha _

_ Kai Boudreaux: What are you doing this weekend? _

*

His parents don’t need that much convincing.

“Remy, that’s wonderful!” Maman says, at the dinner table that night, when he sheepishly asks their permission. “Of course you can have a friend over.”

“Oh.” He looks up from his chicken soup to smile. “Wait, really?”

Papa nods, joining right in. “It’s great to know you’re making friends down there,” he says. “Tell your friend— Kay?”

“Kai,” he supplies.

“Well, Kai is welcome anytime,” Maman says, and Papa keeps nodding, as if to reinforce it.

He feels his smile get bigger. “Thank you,” he says. “I’ll text xir.”

Mémé leans forward on the table, and rests her bony hand on top of his. He looks to her, and she tells him, “It makes me happy to hear you’re making friends at school.”

He squeezes Mémé’s hand. “Thanks, Mem,” he murmurs, and adds, “It makes me happy, too.” He has a spoonful of soup, then tells Mémé, “You’ll like Kai. Xe has purple hair.”

Mémé gives him a warm smile. “Purple is my favorite color.”

“But Remy— no sharing a bed,” Maman chimes in, wagging her spoon at him. “Kai can sleep in your bed, and you’ll take the air mattress.”

Remy almost laughs. He and Kai are some of the most aromantic, asexual people on Kiersey’s campus. Them sharing a bed— for the purposes his parents are suspicious of— is the last thing anyone has to worry about. But he heeds the warning anyway, and as soon as dinner is over, he rushes to text Kai again.

*

_ iMessage _

_ Remy Tremblay: My parents say you’re welcome anytime _

_ Kai Boudreaux loved a message _

_ Kai Boudreaux: Yeeessssssssssss _

_ Kai Boudreaux: I’m excited! _

_ Remy Tremblay: You can come on Saturday and spend the night, if you want _

_ Remy Tremblay: But on one condition _

_ Kai Boudreaux: 👀 awaiting condition _

_ Remy Tremblay: You bring Leonardo _

_ Kai Boudreaux laughed at a message _

_ Kai Boudreaux: OF COURSE I will _

_ Kai Boudreaux: I’ll bring his travel carrier _

_ Remy Tremblay: Awesome _

_ Remy Tremblay: He’ll be welcomed in my room _

_ Kai Boudreaux: I expect court fanfare _

_ Remy Tremblay: I’ll summon the royal guard _

_ Kai Boudreaux: PERFECT _

_ Remy Tremblay: And bring a pair of skates, if you have them _

*

_ December 15th _

Kai arrives at ten o’clock on Saturday morning, with xir backpack over one shoulder and a lizard case in the other hand. Papa is downstairs at work in the crêperie at the time— Remy, too, would be working today, if he hadn’t gotten his shift covered to see Kai— but he introduces xir to Maman and Mémé, then brings xir up to his room in the attic.

“ _ Wow _ ,” Kai marvels, as xe reaches the top of the steep, narrow steps. “It’s so cute up here! This is your room?”

Remy nods, lingering at the top of the stairs. His room isn’t much, but it’s his. He likes his navy blue comforter, and his old, wooden bookshelf that’s overflowing, and the way his bed is right next to the tall attic window, and all his stuffed animals. “I know it’s small, but it’s— uh, it’s cozy.”

“Size matters not,” Kai quips, then sets xir backpack down at the foot of his bed. The case, xe lifts, and Remy feels a rush of pure dopamine as he gets a glimpse inside.

“Speaking of lizards,” he says, walking up to xir to see Leonardo better.

Kai furrows xir brow. “You think Yoda is a lizard?”

“Well, he’s…” Remy pauses, then sighs. “I have no idea what he is. But I don’t care.” He bends over so Leonardo is at his eye level. Inside the travel tank, he’s just as majestic as Kai promised, with a few of his necessary supplies inside with him. “ _ Leonardoooo _ ,” he cries. “I missed you!”

“He took the trip like a champ,” Kai says, then opens the top of the small tank and pulls him out, setting the tank itself aside. Xe holds Leonardo out for him, and as he clambers into Remy’s hand, Kai grins from ear to ear. “Looks like he missed you.”

“I missed him, too,” Remy replies, and smiles at the little gecko. He settles onto the edge of his bed, and lets Leonardo crawl all over his arm, up until he settles in the hood of his Kiersey Hockey sweatshirt. He visited Kai’s dorm a few times this semester— he always thought it was just to study, but now he thinks maybe it’s because they were hanging out, like real friends do— and each time, he got quality time with Leonardo.

“I love him,” he mumbles.

Kai jumps onto the side of his mattress next to him. “He loves you, too,” xe says, then adds, “You wanna open your Christmas present?”

“Oh— oh!” Remy nods, and looks to his bookshelf, where he’s been storing Kai’s gift since he wrapped it. He didn’t want to let xir give him something without giving something in return, and it wasn’t hard at all to think of things xe’d like. “I have something for you, too.”

*

It turns out that they both got each other books for Christmas, which Remy considers a sign of true friendship. From xir, he unwraps a beautifully bound book about the development of the medieval world in Europe, and the book he bought for xir is a collection of fables, myths, and traditional stories about dragons and other lizard-adjacent creatures. He also found a lizard coloring book online.

“Thank you,” xe laughs, and gives him a hug, which takes him off-guard but is still nice of xir. He hugs xir back, and thanks xir, too.

“So, uh…” He looks around his room. Leonardo has found a home in his travel case by the window, and he’s napping away right now, curled into a yellow, speckled gecko croissant. Kai’s backpack is still at the foot of his bed. “Did you bring your skates?”

Kai nods. “They’re in my car,” xe says, and then xe smiles and raises an eyebrow. “Are we going skating?”

“I thought we should,” he says. “I know a really good pond. Unless…” He narrows his eyes. “Can you skate?”

“Well I  _ have _ skates,” Kai replies, with a self-deprecating laugh. “I can say that much.”

“Oh, nice,” he says, and pauses for a second while he looks at xir. Within the silence, he decides they’re good enough friends that he can chirp xir. “Then this is going to be fun.”

Kai laughs again, and jumps off his bed. “You lead the way.”

*

He rides passenger in Kai’s car, and directs xir across the city to his favorite pond. It’s out of the way, a local spot tourists don’t really come to, and it’s always perfectly frozen over at this time of year, like the hockey gods are with him when he visits it. He learned to skate on this pond; his parents and Mémé used to bring him here every winter. They still come around, sometimes, but mostly it’s just him on his own now, working on skills or just skating for fun. In the warm months, ducks live here, and he comes to feed them.

“ _ Wow _ ,” Kai says, as they walk through the clearing to reach the pond. Xe’s carrying a pair of beat-up figure skates over xir shoulder. “This is so pretty!” Xe looks to him, and shakes xir head a little, as if in disbelief. “Why is no one here?”

Remy shrugs. “It’s my little secret,” he tells xir, and then lowers his voice before he adds, “You can’t tell anyone about it.”

Kai laughs. “I won’t,” xe whispers, and bumps against his shoulder as they walk.

It’s chilly out, with a little breeze, the perfect skating weather. Kai stole his Team Canada toque to go out in. The red, white, and black make an interesting color combination with purple hair, but then again, Remy’s entire wardrobe is just blue and Team Canada colors, so he really can’t judge xir.

They sit on the snowy bench of a picnic table to tie their skates. There’s a pile of old hockey sticks, left here by the various locals who skate, and Remy is usually able to find one for himself in the stack. There are stray pucks in a few places around the pond, and an old, beat-up net sits against a tree on the far end.

“We should play one-on-one,” he remarks, as he’s lacing up.

Kai snorts. “You have way too much faith in me,” xe says. “I’m gonna have trouble just standing up.”

“That’s okay.” He pats xir back. “You’re in good hands.”

He gets his skates done faster than xe does, and gets up to skate slow circles around the edge of the pond while he waits for xir. Just like always, it’s smooth and perfect on the surface. “Don’t get me wrong,” he tells xir, as xe’s yanking the laces on xir second skate. “I like Meelia? It’s a beautiful arena. But this is my favorite place in the world to skate.”

Kai smiles. “I feel like you’re letting me in on secret knowledge.”

“It is,” he replies. “I’ve never told anyone that before.”

It’s true; he hasn’t. It feels safe with Kai.

“Okay,” xe says, finally, when xir skates are all laced. When xe stands, xe flails xir arms around, and steadies xirself after a second. “Whoa,” xe laughs. “Oh, man.”

Remy stops gently at the edge of the pond. “Do you need help?”

“No— hold on; I’m okay.” Kai slides, slowly, through the shallow snow in the few feet between the bench and the ice. When xe reaches the ice, xe flails again, and Remy swoops in, ready to prevent xir from falling on xir ass. He doesn’t wind up having to actually interfere, because Kai steadies again, and meets his eyes to laugh at xirself. “I told you it wouldn’t be pretty.”

“It’s okay,” he assures xir, and then grins, and reminds himself they’re on the chirping friendship level now. “I’m surprised,” he says, as he holds out his hand for xir to steady xirself on. “You’re Canadian. This is supposed to be part of your heritage.”

“Shut up,” xe laughs, and then flails for a  _ third _ time, and he gives himself permission to laugh at xir. He leads them both, slowly, out towards a more open part of the ice, and then Kai lets go of him. For a second, xe holds xir arms out, and then drops them, wobbling xir skates, but staying upright. “Okay,” xe says, after a brief quiet. “I think I can do it.”

Remy backs away, and folds his arms, with a smile. “You think so, yeah?”

“I—” Kai stumbles, but regains xir balance, and nods. “Yeah. I can do it.”

“I don’t mind being a crutch,” he offers, holding back his laugh, “if you need it…”

“No, I can do it!” Xe waves him off, and comes to a standstill again. Xe pushes off in a very tentative stroke, and glides about a foot before xe stops xirself with xir toe pick. Remy laughs openly, and applauds.

“Wow, amazing,” he says. “You should’ve been in the Olympics too.”

“You’re such an asshole,” Kai laughs, and then pushes off to glide again. This time, xe glides a little more, and looks to him when xe stops as if for approval.

He keeps applauding. “Magnificent.”

Kai takes a little bow, then meets his eyes, and, out of nowhere, asks, “Do you wanna race?”

“Race?” Remy echoes, and when xe nods, he says, “Sure. I’ll take it easy on you.”

“Wow, that’s so nice of you,” Kai remarks, and he falls into a slow, gliding step alongside xir. Xe does a few of xir wobbly strokes, and he tries to take himself at the slowest pace possible.

Until xe looks over to him, and smirks. “Not bad,” xe says, and then— before he can even react— xe takes off across the ice, in perfect strides, a blur with purple hair.

“ _ What _ ?!” he cries, and laughs as xe goes, then speeds up to chase after xir.

“You’d better get faster,” xe calls over xir shoulder, “if you want to keep up!”

He races xir around the entire circumference of the pond, laughing the whole way, and when xe finally comes to a perfect T-stop at the place where they started, Remy throws his hands in the air and turns backwards to pass xir. “You  _ can _ skate?” he repeats, and Kai is laughing at him, as xe pushes windblown strands of lavender back under his toque. He gestures to the picnic bench. “What was all that, then?”

“That was acting,” xe replies, and then xe doubles over to keep laughing. “And I got you  _ so good _ —”

“ _ Wow _ !” He tucks his hands into his jacket’s pockets. “I guess you did. You’re  _ fast _ !”

Kai folds xir arms, all proud and mighty, and announces, “I used to do synchronized skating.”

“Wait, actually?” He waits for xir nod. “That’s so cool! Why didn’t I ever know that before?”

Kai shrugs. “I don’t really think about it that much anymore.” Xe pauses, then adds, “But I do still have the speed, I guess.”

“You  _ definitely _ do,” he replies, and then his eyes fall on the pile of sticks, at the side of the ice. “And now you’re definitely not getting out of playing one-on-one. C’mon— grab a stick!”

“Oh, great,” Kai says. “Hockey is something I’m  _ actually _ bad at.”

“It’ll be fun!” he insists. “I’ll find us a puck.”

*

“Psst.”

Remy rolls over on the air mattress. His room looks different from the floor. Kai is in his bed, because even though xe offered to take the air mattress, Maman came upstairs to ‘check in’ and insisted Kai take the bed. Xe’s sitting up in it now, and looking down at him. Xe has lizard-print pajama bottoms, and a shirt with an ancient Roman statue printed on it, except the statue is wearing earbuds and listening to an iPod.

“Remy,” xe whispers, all conspiratorially.

“I’m awake,” he replies, which xe should know, because they were talking up until maybe two minutes ago. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” xe replies. “I’m good. It’s just— I think it’s snowing.”

He sits up halfway, and cranes his neck to the window. It’s a dark night, but the surrounding buildings always have lit windows, so he can see okay. Kai is right— it  _ is _ snowing. He isn’t sure when it started.

“It’ll be a pretty morning,” he says, and then gets an idea. “Hey— we could have breakfast downstairs? I know all the best orders.”

“Downstairs like the crêperie?” When he nods, xe rubs xir stomach. “That sounds so good.”

“It is good,” he replies, because even though he’s spent more time working there than he would care to, the crepes  _ are _ really good. It’s always nice to come home and have them for the first time in awhile. The shop always smells sweet, and warm.

He shifts on the air mattress again, and tugs his stuffed bear— the friend of choice to join him in this makeshift bed— close to his chest. Kai is still sitting up, and xe just sits there for a second before going back to that conspiratorial whisper. “Hey,” xe says. “I have an idea.”

“Okay.”

Xe pulls his navy comforter to xir chest, and snuggles xirself in. Xe’s still whispering when xe talks again. “Do you want to engage in a platonic snuggle?”

Remy blinks. “What?”

“We don’t have to,” Kai says, quickly, like xe’s covering xir bases. “If you don’t like being touched, I— like, I get it. Sorry. I just thought I would ask.”

“No, wait, I—” He shakes his head, and sits back up on the air mattress. “No. Sorry. That sounds nice.” He pauses, and wonders if he’s blushing. Maybe it’s too dark for xir to see. “I’ve just never, uh, done that before.” He hasn’t, unless you count Ben climbing on him on the couch at the upperclassmen’s house on Beech Street because he needs to  _ snuggle with the homies _ .

Kai pulls the comforter down. “Well, as your official ace educator, I think it’s fitting I introduce you to the concept.”

They both fit under his comforter, even though it’s a little snug. He’s taller than xir, but not that much bulkier, and xe winds up with xir head on his shoulder, and he hugs xir around the waist. It’s warm, and all his stuffed friends are scattered all over the bed, and outside the window, the snow is coming down steadier. Leonardo is asleep again, still on the windowsill in his tank.

Remy expects it to feel awkward, but it doesn’t. With Kai, he’s never felt awkward. Not once. In fact, he feels more comfortable with xir than he has with any other friend that he can think of.

Xe’s probably one of the best friends he’s had, and he’s only known xir for a few months.

“Hey, Kai?” he asks, after a few minutes of quiet, and hopes xe’s awake.

Xe is. From his shoulder, xe hums as if to signal xir attention. “Hmmm?”

He takes a deep breath, and looks at his ceiling for a second. It’s slanted, and sort of low; if he were taller, he might hit his head sitting up in bed. He really does love his room.

“Thanks for coming over,” he tells xir. “I don’t really… socialize much, when I’m at home. I’m glad you’re here.”

“Awww,” Kai says, and gives him a squeeze. “I’m glad I’m here, too. And you don’t have to thank me for being your friend.” Xe pauses, and snuggles into his shoulder before adding, “I’m glad you sat next to me in class this semester.”

Remy smiles.

“Me, too.”

He’s so happy and warm that he falls asleep right where he is.


	7. die hard: the great debate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 7 of 25, here's a fic told entirely by group chat, featuring some less known members of Nando, Ben, and Remy's hockey team!  
> [PROMPT: The Kiersey men's hockey team has a spirited debate over whether Die Hard counts as a Christmas movie. Lines are drawn in the sand. Captaincies are threatened. The Geneva Convention does not apply........](https://sincerelyreidburke.tumblr.com/post/636865112745066496/day-7-the-tried-and-true-old-debate-this-fic)

_ Nando's sophomore year _ | _december, finals season_

_ Group: KMH Captains 2019-20 _

_ Monday, December 2nd, 2019 _

_ 9:31 AM _

_ Sebastián Hernandez: hey guys before i forget _

_ Sebastián Hernandez: i was thinking _

_ Alex Santiago: loooool _

_ Alex Santiago: YOU were thinking? _

_ Sebastián Hernandez: i know, alert the press _

_ Jordan Jefferson: ouch teegs, brutal _

_ Sebastián Hernandez: but anyway _

_ Sebastián Hernandez: campus feels so weirdly depressing right now _

_ Sebastián Hernandez: like i feel totally fine, but i feel like so many people around me are stressed out??? because of exams?? and you can tell when you walk around campus _

_ Sebastián Hernandez: i also think the weather doesn’t help _

_ Alex Santiago: ya thats so true _

_ Alex Santiago: i havent seen the sun in like 4 days _

_ Jordan Jefferson: i completely know what you mean, nando _

_ Jordan Jefferson: i think everyone is suffering from end of semester fatigue _

_ Sebastián Hernandez: totally!! _

_ Sebastián Hernandez: so that’s why i was thinking _

_ Sebastián Hernandez: we should have a team gathering on one of the reading days _

_ Sebastián Hernandez: optional obviously, so if anyone really needs to study they don’t have to come _

_ Sebastián Hernandez: but like an opportunity for a fun study break _

_ Jordan Jefferson: i think that’s a great idea! _

_ Alex Santiago: same here _

_ Alex Santiago: did you have any ideas for what it should be like? _

_ Sebastián Hernandez: idk maybe a movie night? _

_ Sebastián Hernandez: we could let the guys vote on the movie _

_ Sebastián Hernandez: i’ll make/bring snacks of some kind _

_ Jordan Jefferson: we should do a holiday movie _

_ Sebastián Hernandez: yeah!!! _

_ Alex Santiago: sweeeeeeeeeet _

_ Alex Santiago: love you two and your efficiency _

_ Alex Santiago: how’s wednesday night? _

_ Sebastián Hernandez: works for me! _

_ Jordan Jefferson: works for me as well _

_ Alex Santiago: NICE _

_ Alex Santiago: dez, can i text the team gc? _

_ Sebastián Hernandez: for sure! _

*

_ Group: Kiersey Men’s Hockey _

_ Monday, December 2nd, 2019 _

_ 10:15 AM _

_ Alex Santiago: good morning fine gentlemen this is your captain speaking _

_ Alex Santiago: my esteemed associate nando has brought forth a proposition _

_ Alex Santiago: to distract you all from the looming threat of exams, we’re gonna have movie night at beech on wednesday for anyone who wants to take a break _

_ Sebastián Hernandez: and i’ll make food! just lmk what you want to eat _

_ Ben Shaley loved a message _

_ Ben Shaley: count me the fuck in _

_ Sam Nguyen: Same here _

_ Xander Williams: I’ll be there! _

_ Chris Yang: Me too👍 _

_ Sebastián Hernandez: oh good! i’m glad you guys can make it _

_ Ben Shaley: me, miss a chance to hang out with you nanny? never _

_ Sebastián Hernandez: you literally live on the other side of my bathroom _

_ Ben Shaley: and????? _

_ Ben Shaley: i love you bitch _

_ Chris Yang: Thank you rhodey very cool _

_ Ben Shaley disliked a message _

_ Ben Shaley: respect your upperclassmen baby yang _

_ Remy Tremblay: What time is the movie? _

_ Sebastián Hernandez: we haven’t set it yet! _

_ Jordan Jefferson: what works for you guys? _

_ Remy Tremblay: I have a study session from 6-7, then I’m free _

_ Jordan Jefferson: okay cool _

_ Jordan Jefferson: what about 7:30? _

_ Remy Tremblay: That works! Thank you _

_ Xander Williams: Works for me too! _

_ Zain Dahir: what’s the movie? _

_ Ben Shaley: oh truuuuuue _

_ Rocco Mahone: ^^^ _

_ Sebastián Hernandez: we haven’t picked it yet but we were thinking we should do some kind of holiday movie! _

_ Xander Williams: Ooh I’m on board for a festive movie night _

_ Rocco Mahone: We should watch die hard _

_ Xander Williams disliked a message _

_ Xander Williams: That’s not a Christmas movie! _

_ Rocco Mahone: Yes it is _

_ Zain Dahir: yes it is _

_ Ben Shaley: it so is _

_ Xander Williams: NOOOOOO _

_ Alex Santiago: oh shit lmaoooo _

_ Alex Santiago: looks like we’re divided, boys _

_ Sebastián Hernandez: ahahahaha _

_ Sam Nguyen: You’re on crack if you think Die Hard is a Christmas movie _

_ Rocco Mahone disliked a message _

_ Ben Shaley disliked a message _

_ Xander Williams: THANK YOU sam _

_ Ben Shaley: sam and x meet me in the parking lot at 5pm so we can have a beatdown brawl _

_ Xander Williams: What parking lot? _

_ Ben Shaley: that’s not important _

_ Ben Shaley: the point is IT’S A CHRISTMAS MOVIE _

_ Xander Williams: NO IT’S NOT! _

_ Zain Dahir: it lowkey is _

_ Zain Dahir: like it has christmas music in it and shit _

_ Ben Shaley: exactly _

_ Ben Shaley: z you’re my new favorite freshman _

_ Xander Williams: Okay FIRST OF ALL _

_ Jordan Jefferson: yesssss x go off _

_ Xander Williams: When you look it up on google it’s classified as an ACTION movie not a holiday movie _

_ Xander Williams sent a screenshot _

_ Xander Williams: See? _

_ Sam Nguyen liked an image _

_ Jordan Jefferson: ooooh he’s pulling receipts _

_ Ben Shaley: um yeah it’s an action holiday movie _

_ Rocco Mahone: ^^^^^ _

_ Xander Williams: NO! _

_ Ben Shaley: YES! _

_ Sam Nguyen: It’s not about Christmas… therefore it’s not a Christmas movie _

_ Xander Williams emphasized a message _

_ Xander Williams: EXACTLY _

_ Chris Yang: Guys I’m laughing in the library _

_ Chris Yang: People are looking at me weird _

_ Ben Shaley: then leave _

_ Ben Shaley: i’ll die on this hill _

_ Ben Shaley: how can you tell me that a movie set on christmas eve isn’t a christmas movie _

_ Xander Williams: Because it’s not about Christmas! _

_ Ben Shaley: YES IT FUCKING IS! _

_ Sam Nguyen: The main plot is him saving his wife _

_ Ben Shaley: YEAH SO HE CAN SPEND CHRISTMAS WITH HER! _

_ Sebastián Hernandez: ben you feel strongly about this huh _

_ Ben Shaley: i feel strongly because i’m RIGHT _

_ Xander Williams: You’re wrong, but go off I guess _

_ Jordan Jefferson laughed at a message _

_ Sam Nguyen laughed at a message _

_ Jordan Jefferson: go OFF x _

_ Ben Shaley: i need more people in my camp _

_ Ben Shaley: rocco zain wya _

_ Chris Yang: Z is in class _

_ Ben Shaley: shit _

_ Ben Shaley: REMY _

_ Ben Shaley: come defend me _

_ Remy Tremblay: I’ve never seen the movie you’re talking about. _

_ Sebastián Hernandez: neither have i actually _

_ Ben Shaley: okay now we have to watch it on wednesday _

_ Ben Shaley: so everyone can form their own unbiased opinions _

_ Xander Williams: I have an unbiased opinion and it’s the right one. _

_ Ben Shaley: FUCK YOU X _

_ Xander Williams: It’s not my fault I understand the true meaning of Christmas! _

_ Ben Shaley: die hard IS about the true meaning of Christmas _

_ Xander Williams: Somebody defend me! _

_ Sam Nguyen: I’m with you all the way x _

_ Jordan Jefferson: honestly me too _

_ Ben Shaley: oh FUCK OFF jordy not you too _

_ Jordan Jefferson: idk it doesn’t fit the bill of traditional christmas movie for me _

_ Remy Tremblay: This is the plot summary on Google: _

_ Remy Tremblay: “New York City policeman John McClane (Bruce Willis) is visiting his estranged wife (Bonnie Bedelia) and two daughters on Christmas Eve. He joins her at a holiday party in the headquarters of the Japanese-owned business she works for. But the festivities are interrupted by a group of terrorists who take over the exclusive high-rise, and everyone in it. Very soon McClane realizes that there's no one to save the hostages -- but him.” _

_ Sebastián Hernandez: i mean… it sounds at least slightly festive? _

_ Xander Williams: Nando please don’t join the dark side _

_ Sebastián Hernandez: no, i’ll withhold my opinion until i actually watch it _

_ Xander Williams: Okay, good _

_ Rocco Mahone: Can we get Teegs opinion _

_ Xander Williams: I would also like to hear Teegs opinion _

_ Jordan Jefferson: same _

_ Ben Shaley: teeeeeeeeeeeeeegs _

_ Ben Shaley: settle this fuckery _

_ Alex Santiago: i think it’s a christmas movie _

_ Xander Williams disliked a message _

_ Ben Shaley loved a message _

_ Ben Shaley: ALEJANDRO I LOVE YOU! _

_ Xander Williams: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO _

_ Jordan Jefferson:💀💀💀💀💀💀 _

_ Alex Santiago: okokok think abt it _

_ Alex Santiago: if you take christmas away from the movie, it doesnt really work _

_ Alex Santiago: so it’s a christmas movie _

_ Xander Williams: I disown you as my captain _

_ Xander Williams: Jordy is my new captain now _

_ Alex Santiago: oh shit im being overthrown? _

_ Ben Shaley: i respect you supreme leader santiago _

_ Sam Nguyen: Shun the die hard fans _

_ Xander Williams: Fuck you rhodey _

_ Ben Shaley: fuck YOU x _

_ Sebastián Hernandez: so um _

_ Sebastián Hernandez: would this be a bad time to ask what you guys want for dinner with the movie? _


	8. first light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 8 of 25, we finally come to some Cole Hanukkah content! There will be a few different Cole POVs this month, but here's your first one (unless you count the bit in the Ben angst from the other day). Thank you to my friend and kindly beta, Via, for ensuring I was accurately representing a typical first night of Hanukkah!  
> [PROMPT: Let's travel back to Cole's sophomore year of high school, for his first Hanukkah after he comes out to his mom and grandfather.](https://sincerelyreidburke.tumblr.com/post/636960723776438272/cole-stans-gather-round-for-day-8-i-guess-its)

_ cole’s sophomore year of high school _

_ november 19th _

A month or so before Hanukkah, over a quiet but content dinner in the kitchen, Mom first voices the idea.

“Cole,” she says, suddenly, and Cole startles just a little before looking up from his soup. Hearing his own name from Mom is still new— over a month old, true, but still  _ relatively _ new when you think about how she’d been calling him the wrong name all his life right up until he told her his real one. It’s a piece of warmth, a sliver of light in all the dark and cold he’s felt lately. He goes to school and struggles through the day, trying so hard to feel okay in his own skin, hearing the wrong name or wrong pronouns left and right, and then he comes home, and Mom calls him Cole.

Mom has said his name from the moment she learned it. She truly, completely accepts him, without reservation. He isn’t sure he would have made it this far otherwise.

When she knows she has his attention, she continues. “I was just thinking. Hanukkah is coming up.”

He feels a mixed reaction to that. In general, he likes the holidays. Hanukkah is pretty much the only thing to look forward to in the winter, since the world around and after it is pretty much like if the weather had clinical depression. He’s always enjoyed the traditions, the celebration, and the like. It’s just that this year, seeing Dad is going to be complicated— hard, even. Dad didn’t take it well when he tried to come out to him. He’s in denial about it, and Cole hopes he won’t always be.

But Mom can’t control Dad, and Cole has no reason to get standoffish with her over Hanukkah right now because of that. So he just nods. “Uh… yeah?”

“You’re going to need something to wear,” she continues.

“Something to…” He pushes his glasses up on his nose. “Wear?” It’s something he’d rather not think about. He wore a dress last Hanukkah, and every other one before that, for the last night at Dad’s house. Mom didn’t make him dress up at home on the other nights, except the first, when Zaydeh came over for a big dinner.

Tonight, over their steaming soup in the low-lit kitchen, Mom nods. “You don’t have anything to wear,” she says. “We should go shopping. Maybe Saturday?”

“Saturday,” he echoes. He still doesn’t understand exactly what she means by ‘something to wear.’ She isn’t going to make him wear a dress again, is she?

“I’ll take you to the mall,” she replies, with a nod. “We can get you fitted for a suit. Does that sound okay?”

_ Oh _ .

Cole blinks, tightly, and then does a double take. There’s no sign she isn’t serious. She really means it. She wants him to wear a suit. A gentle, warm euphoria blossoms inside of him somewhere, and he stammers a second before he gets out, “Wait, you’re— are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure,” she says, without hesitating even for a second. “You don’t have anything here. And you’ll need it for other stuff, too. School events and the like?” She smiles, and Cole feels warmer. His heart rate goes a little quicker than normal. It’s the kind of unexpected, happy rush that comes from affirmation. Rushes like that have been few and far between this fall, but Mom is the source of so many of them.

“Well,” he says, after he’s been quiet too long. “Okay.”

*

_ november 22nd _

It isn’t his first time at the mall with Mom to fix his wardrobe. In October, the weekend after he came out, she took him here and let him buy new clothes from the men’s section. It was a whole day full of those affirming moments, and probably the best day of this whole process so far.

The mall is sort of crowded, and they already have a bunch of decorations up for Christmas even though it isn’t even Thanksgiving yet. Mom takes him to a store for business clothes and stuff like that, and they only have to deal with a little bit of shit from the sales associates. When they find a good one, he even gets to introduce himself, and it makes him all warm inside.

“I’m Dirk,” says the guy, who has a beard and some cool tattoos, as they’re setting up shop in the back of the store. He holds out his hand for Cole to shake, even though it takes him an extra few seconds to realize that’s what he wants him to do. “And what’s your name?”

“Oh—” Cole shakes his hand back, and feels like his own grip is weak in Dirk’s very businesslike handshake, but it’s over before that can really matter. “Sorry, I’m— I’m Cole.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Cole,” Dirk replies, and Cole sees Mom smiling over his shoulder where she’s sitting in a customer chair. He looks to her for his next question, like he knows she’s the responsible adult in the room. She did, after all, talk their way into a fitting with the less tolerant sales lady at the front of the store. “Are we shopping for any particular occasion today?”

Mom nods. “He needs a suit for Hanukkah.”

“Good deal.” Dirk nods, then claps his hands together. “Let’s get to it.”

He gets measured all over the place, which is a little awkward and uncomfortable, but Mom is right there when it happens, and he has to keep reminding himself that it’s a means to a good end. And in the end, it  _ is _ good— with Dirk’s retail fashion sense, and Mom’s guidance, he lands on a dark blue suit, and a tie that goes with it, and even his first pair of real  _ dress shoes _ , and all of it is enough to make him smile harder than he can remember doing recently when he sees himself in the mirror.

Because sure, dressing differently this fall has been good, and so has binding, and it was fucking  _ great _ when he cut off his hair, but this is— different, somehow. When he sees himself in the department store mirror, he can hardly believe how much like  _ himself _ he actually looks. How much he  _ wants _ to look like this. How much better it is.

“We’ll have to take it in here,” Dirk is saying, regarding his suit jacket, and talking more to Mom than to Cole. “But we can call you as soon as those alterations are done, and then he’ll be good to go for the holidays.”

“Perfect,” Mom says. Her voice is almost background noise, as Cole tucks his hands into the suit pants’ pockets. “Thank you so much.”

For the first time he can really remember at all, Cole loves the way he looks right now.

*

_ december 16th _

The magic of the suit doesn’t go away.

It’s just as affirming when he gets it back from the store with alterations and tries it on to be sure it fits. It’s even  _ more  _ affirming on the first night at Hanukkah, when he gets dressed in his room and comes downstairs. Mom is already dressed up— she has a fancy blouse on, with work pants and high heels. She’s already cooking, grating potatoes over a bowl, and he’s starting to be able to smell the challah that’s in the oven. The table is set for dinner, with the unlit menorah at its center, and it all feels like a warm and welcome hug.

When Mom sees him, she stops grating, and puts a hand to her heart. “Oh, bug,” she says. “You look so handsome.”

He most definitely blushes, if the temperature of his face is any indication. “I do?” he asks, fiddling with the end of his tie. It’s gray, with tiny dots the same shade of blue as his suit. Mom liked it at the store.

“You do,” she echoes, and then beckons him over. “Come here.”

So he does, and she straightens his tie, then tucks it into his jacket and buttons it up. There’s so much pride in her smile when she meets his eyes. “I’m proud of you,” she tells him.

He isn’t sure what there is to be proud of. “For putting on a suit?”

“No,” she replies. “Or, well, yes, I guess. I’m glad you can dress yourself.” He laughs a little with her before she adds, “But I’m proud that you’re my son.”

“Oh.” He touches his cheek; it’s so warm. Everything is safe with Mom, everything welcoming, like she’ll protect him from the harder parts of the world. Tonight, in the warm-lit kitchen, it feels extra prevalent, and he can’t help it; he smiles. “Okay.”

“C’mere.” She gives him a hug, and adds, “I love you. Can you go and brush your hair? Your grandfather will be here soon.”

“I love you, too,” he replies. When they pull away, he asks, “But what’s wrong with my hair?”

She examines it for a second, then tips her head to the side and remarks, “I know you didn’t brush it.”

Busted. He sighs, and turns to go back to his room. “I’ll be right back.”

He puts his brush through his hair in front of the mirror a few times. He kind of wants to cut it again— not that it’s getting  _ too  _ long for comfort, but his bangs are always in his face. When he gets back downstairs, he peeks into the oven and says, “I want to eat the entire loaf by myself.”

“You’ll have to fight Zaydeh for it,” Mom replies, in a singsong voice, and then—  _ knock, knock, knock _ , at the front door— it’s as if she summoned him. “Well, speaking of!”

“I’ll get it,” Cole says. Maybe it’s a little stupid, or he’s making too big of a deal out of it, but he wants Zaydeh to see what he’s wearing. He darts across the kitchen and to the front door, and he takes one quick, deep breath before he opens it.

“Cole!” It’s another voice it feels so good to hear his own name in. “ _ Chag urim sameach _ !” Zaydeh is dressed up in a suit of his own, and he has his cane in one hand with a white gift bag over his other elbow. His kippah is where it always is, at the back of his bald head. One day, Cole wants to try and grow a beard like his— although Zaydeh’s is gray, and Cole would prefer to get there before his own hair is that color.

“ _ Chag sameach _ , Zaydeh,” Cole replies, and he’s being pulled in for a hug by his loud and laughing grandfather before he can even get the door open all the way.

“Look at you in your new suit!” Zaydeh cries, gesturing up and down at him when he releases him from the clutches of the greeting hug. “Very handsome!”

“Thank you.” Now Cole might be blushing again. He shuts the door behind Zaydeh, and walks with him toward the kitchen. He’s still letting off various exclamations about the suit. Zaydeh cannot be contained in volume or venture. He and Mom have to remind him to walk at the pace he’s supposed to with his cane.

“Your mom told me you’d be dressed up,” Zaydeh says, then elbows him. “And I’m glad you are. Now the men of the house outnumber her.”

Cole laughs. “That’s… true, I guess.”

“Deborah!” Zaydeh yells, upon his entrance in the kitchen. “You’re cooking up a storm in here. It smells delicious. Did you get a load of your son?”

“Oh, I got a load of him.” Mom is smiling, and she leaves her potato grater again to give Zaydeh a hug of greeting. She then reaches to ruffle Cole’s hair, which completely defeats the purpose of her telling him to brush it five minutes ago, but whatever. “Doesn’t he look so handsome?”

“He sure does,” Zaydeh replies, and Cole hides his face in his hands so maybe they won’t see how hard he’s smiling.

But it’s not the best part of the night, not even close. That comes after they light the  _ shamash  _ and the furthest-right candle on the menorah; they wait until the sun has just gone down, and then Zaydeh says the blessing, and he and Mom let Cole do the honors. He’s leaning back and admiring his work, the way the two candles flicker against the warm light of the kitchen, when Zaydeh reaches into that gift bag he brought with him, and draws something out to set on the table.

“Cole,” Mom says, like they’ve coordinated this. When Cole looks away from the menorah, he sees Zaydeh has nudged a mid-sized box in his direction. It’s wrapped in blue paper, with a gold ribbon. “This is for you.”

Cole takes the box, gingerly, and moves his bangs out of his face (yeah, definitely time for another haircut) as he looks down at it. Dad’s fiancée, his future step-monster, is way bigger on doing gifts at Hanukkah than his family ever has been, as evidenced by the fact that her two gremlin children get presents every night. Cole usually gets something small, but Mom tends to do it on the last night, so this is new.

“Uh,” he says, “thank you.” He looks between Mom and Zaydeh, because he brought it but she just announced it, so he isn’t sure who it’s from. “Should I open it now?”

Zaydeh nods. “It’s important that you do,” he says, and Mom just smiles, folding her hands on the table.

“Go ahead,” she says, and so, even though he’s a little confused, he does.

He tries to be gentle with the paper, but then starts having trouble with the tape, so he just saves Mom and Zaydeh (and himself, he guesses) the suspense and rips it. Beneath the paper is a plain black box, square and just bigger than his hand with all his fingers spread. It’s not heavy at all. He sets it on the table, then lifts the lid to find tissue paper covering what’s beneath, and when he lifts the  _ tissue _ , well— his emotions aren’t ready for what he finds.

In the box is a circular piece of fabric, about the size of his palm. He’s seen a million of them in his life, all on the heads of others he envies. It’s gray, plain and formal, with a seam around its edge. It’s… almost just like Zaydeh’s.

“Oh,” he breathes, and then he’s tearing up. He looks up to Mom and Zaydeh, who are wearing near identical smiles. The undeserved pride seems to run in the family. “What?”

Mom and Zaydeh look to each other for a second, and then Mom says, gently, “We thought you should have one.”

“After all,” Zaydeh adds, “what’s a man without one?”

Cole is choked up. They don’t even know how badly he’s wanted to wear a kippah.

“Thank you,” he says, but he barely has a voice. He lifts his glasses to wipe his eyes, and cleans them of their fog. “I—” He doesn’t want to wipe his face on the sleeve of his brand new suit, so he tilts his head to the ceiling until he can blink away his tears. He smiles through it, and laughs when he puts his glasses on again. He lifts the kippah out of the box to get a better look at it. “It’s perfect.”

“Good,” Zaydeh says. “I picked it out myself.”

He laughs again, and sets the kippah back in the box, then presses his hands to his face. His cheeks are a little wet, but he nods. “It’s perfect,” he repeats.

“Come here, then.” Zaydeh reaches for the kippah, and takes it from the box to hold it up for him. “Duck your head. You’re getting too tall.”

He keeps laugh-crying, and does as he says. He bends himself down in his seat, so Zaydeh can fix the kippah in its spot at the back of his head. Instantly, it’s affirming. The day’s euphoria grows. When he lifts his head, Zaydeh gives him a thumbs-up. Mom’s eyes are glassy, and she’s smiling, too.

“You look very handsome,” she tells him.

“There you go,” Zaydeh says. “Now we can celebrate.”

There’s so much warmth and life in this room. Fully dressed and ready for Hanukkah, Cole has never felt  _ more _ ready to celebrate.


	9. a christmas movie education

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 9 of 25 heads back to basics, with some good old-fashioned courting stage Quindo. Or maybe not so much courting stage, but early dating stage. AKA they’re first-semester freshmen, both still in disbelief that having a boyfriend has become part of their life.  
> [PROMPT: Fun fact: when he arrives at Kiersey for his freshman year, one Quinn Cooper has never seen a Christmas movie. When Nando finds out, he's hell-bent on changing that.](https://sincerelyreidburke.tumblr.com/post/637047258060357632/day-9-quinns-movie-education-begins-back-to)

_ Quinn’s freshman year _

_ monday, november 26th _

On the Monday back to school after Thanksgiving break, Quinn’s boyfriend takes him to lunch.

Three weeks have gone by since they’ve been ‘official,’ and Quinn has to confess that he’s still getting used to having a boyfriend, still processing how something so nice could possibly be happening in his life. In the first half of his semester, he was lucky— and grateful— to have made a good handful of very lovely friends, from all different places in the life on campus he’s built for himself. But he’d be lying if he said Sebastián, and their developing relationship, wasn’t his favorite part of this semester. He’d be lying if he said having a boyfriend wasn’t the best improvement, from the start of the semester to now.

Because having made friends is very good, and he’ll never take that for granted. But having a boyfriend is different— because for the first time in his life, there’s someone out there thinking of him like  _ that _ , someone out there who wants to spend time with him like  _ that _ , someone out there who’s actively dating him. And Sebastián, in all his sweet, charming, handsome, thoughtful glory, isn’t just any boy. He’s the most lovely boy Quinn has ever had the pleasure of knowing.

And to think: he’s all his.

It’s still taking some getting used to.

“Hey, baby.” When they meet in the dining hall lobby, Sebastián greets him with a warm hug. “I missed you!”

“I missed you, too,” Quinn says, smiling against his chest. It’s his first time seeing him since last Tuesday morning, when the break began. For break, Sebastián went home with his roommate, Ben, who lives in Rhode Island; their other freshman hockey friend, Remy, was with them as well. Quinn stayed here on campus, taking the good opportunity to get ahead on end-of-semester assignments. It isn’t like he had anywhere to go even without the homework bit, but the way he sees it, nobody needs to focus on that. It was a restful break, if nothing else.

When he looks up, Quinn rises on tiptoe to kiss his cheek before they pull out of the hug. With none of his teammates in the vicinity to apply those ridiculous PDA fines, he revels in the opportunity to be sweet with him in plain sight. (Not that the fines have ever truly stopped them.) “I’m looking forward to hearing about your weekend,” he tells him.

“I wanna hear about yours, too,” Sebastián replies, then does him one better and gives him a quick, proper kiss. Quinn thinks he may melt one of these days, from the sheer softness this boy brings into his life. “C’mon,” Sebastián adds, with a smile, as he takes his hand and leads him toward the servery. “It’s paninis at the main station today.”

The servery is busy, since it’s lunch hour, but they do eventually get through it, and situate themselves at a table towards the back of the dining room. It’s become relatively standard for them to eat in that secluded area; Quinn finds it easiest to process noise when they’re as far away from crowds as possible. “Hi,” Sebastián says, and leans across the table to grab both his hands, once they’ve settled in. He’s cuter than should be possible. “I missed you,” Sebastián says again, and holds his hands up to his face so Quinn’s knuckles brush either of his cheeks. “I’m glad to see you now.”

“Me, too,” Quinn hums. He thinks he may be blushing, but that’s alright. He has no recourse. He is completely smitten for this boy, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. “I believe that’s the most consecutive days I haven’t seen you since we met.”

“I think you’re right,” Sebastián replies, and then pauses before he groans and mumbles, “How will I survive winter break without you?”

Quinn shakes his head, and squeezes both his hands before they let go to start eating. “Don’t rush it,” he says, in what he hopes is an assuring tone— because despite their mutual awareness of the upcoming break, and their preparedness to do long distance for a month, he, too, looks upon it dismally to imagine a whole month away from school. Away from all these new, good things. Away from him. “We have two and a half weeks,” he tries, and Sebastián nods.

“I’m not rushing,” he says. “Trust me. Which reminds me!” He’s holding half his panini in his hand, but pauses before he takes a bite to sort of flourish it around, and it’s funny, so Quinn laughs. “I’ve got back-to-back road games this weekend, but Sunday’s off.” When he flashes a smile, it’s cheeky and adorable. “You wanna hole up in your room for a movie?”

Quinn softens just considering it. They’ve made quite a habit of snuggly times in his single, with no one to see, interrupt, or cast hockey team fines. “I’d love that,” he replies.

“Sweet.” Sebastián’s smile grows. “I’ll bring candy. It can be a festive date. What’s your favorite Christmas movie?”

“Um.” This stops him right in his tracks, as he’s about to dig into his salad. He lets Sebastián eat for a second, and looks down into his bowl of greens, like maybe he can pretend it’s just a tough decision, and that he just has to think about it very hard. He smooths his swipe of hair across his forehead, and takes a deep breath. “My favorite Christmas movie?” he echoes, like this will make it easier to answer the question.

Sebastián nods, and swallows his bite of sandwich. “I know,” he says, “it’s totally hard to choose. I always go back and forth between a couple of them. But what ones do you like?”

“Christmas movies,” Quinn repeats, and folds his hands carefully over his salad. Sebastián tips his head to the side, like he’s getting confused. Quinn wonders if he should just name a random movie. He feels for a second like that would be less embarrassing.

But he doesn’t want to lie. He has no reason to lie to Sebastián, because he doesn’t need to keep his guard up for him. So he takes a moment, then sighs, and meets his eyes when he admits, “I’ve… actually never seen any holiday movies, believe it or not.”

Sebastián’s eyebrows narrow, as if in disbelief. “Baby,” he says, not harshly, but most definitely with an air of surprise. “For real?”

“I know.” Quinn knows for certain he’s red in the face, now. He hangs his head, and sighs again. “I suppose it just— um, it was never a large part of my childhood? My grandparents do celebrate Christmas, but…” He trails off a moment. The fake tree, with its handful of monochromatic, bulbous ornaments, is the highlight of the house. As with everything else in his grandparents’ household, the holiday decor is plain and unexciting. The most festive the holiday season gets is probably when Oma overcooks a turkey on Christmas Day, and the painful hour of conversation-less dinner that comes with it.

Still looking at his salad, Quinn shakes his head and concludes, “Well— home is not a particularly festive place, I suppose.”

“Baby,” Sebastián repeats. He still sounds surprised, but now there’s something else in his voice— not pity, exactly, more like sympathy. When he feels his hand on his again, Quinn looks up, and he flips his palm upwards so Sebastián can lace their fingers together. “So you’ve never seen a Christmas movie before, ever?”

He nods, slowly. Goodness, he  _ is _ a little embarrassed, even though it’s just Sebastián. “That’s correct,” he says, and then scrambles a bit, lest he misrepresent himself. “I do love Christmas; I assure you. I’ve always— er, I’ve always wanted to celebrate it properly?” He almost hangs his head a little, then decides against that. Now that he’s told him the truth, there’s no use in being ashamed over it. “I suppose I’ve just never— had the opportunity?”

Sebastián squeezes his hand. “I’m sorry,” he says first, with a gentle shake of his head. “I didn’t mean to assume anything. And I’m sorry you, like, haven’t had the chance to celebrate—”

“Oh, goodness, Sebastián, please,” Quinn says. “Don’t be sorry. It’s completely circumstantial; you have no reason to apologize about it.”

“Well— okay.” After Quinn watches the gears turn in his head for a moment (you can see it on him, sometimes), Sebastián’s smile returns in full force, and he nods, like he’s accepting some kind of unspoken mission. “Then— can I ask you something?”

Quinn returns the squeeze to his hand. “Of course.”

“Would you…” Sebastián takes another second, like he’s trying to phrase what he wants to say, and then finishes, “Would you let me show you? A good and fun Christmas season, I mean. I’d really love to be the one to do it.”

A rush of soft hits Quinn, just sitting across from him in the dining hall. His face warms further, and he breaks out in a smile. “Oh, goodness,” he says. “You would do that?”

“ _ Obviously _ I’d do that,” Sebastián replies, without even skipping a beat. “It’s, like, one of my favorite times of year. And I can’t even lie; I’ve been, like, daydreaming about having holiday dates with you.”

Quinn has to prevent himself from swooning. “Sebastián.”

“It’s new for me, too,” he adds. “In a different way, I guess, but, I mean— I’ve never spent any part of the Christmas season in a place where it actually snows before.”

He laughs. He can’t imagine Christmas in the desert, but that’s been Sebastián’s whole life to this point. “I suppose that’s true!”

“Okay, it’s settled.” Sebastián nods, and squeezes his hand one last time before he lets go to keep eating. “I’m gonna show you a good holiday time, baby. Starting now, and right through to break.”

Quinn rests his cheek in one hand, and sighs at him, like he’s his Prince Charming in shining armor. Really, he is, if you swap out the armor for hockey gear. “You are the most lovely boy,” he declares, and wishes he could tell all the world that very thing.

Sebastián shakes his head. “That’s not true,” he says. “I know that boy. I’m looking at him right now.”

He swats across the table, and laughs through his blush. “ _ Sebastián _ .”

“I’m serious, though,” he adds. “First up is this Sunday, okay? You just look cute, and leave the rest to me.” He winks. “And that won’t be hard for you, since you always do.”

Quinn wants to swat him again, but he can’t shake his smile, and he’s too far to reach anyway. “Perfect,” he hums, and picks up his fork. “It’s a date.”

*

_ sunday, december 2nd _

It’s a busy week schoolwork-wise, but Quinn gets through it successfully, thanks to his working ahead over Thanksgiving on campus and the added motivation of his weekend date to look forward to. He sees Sebastián plenty of times between their Monday lunch and their scheduled date on Sunday, but when he arrives at his room on Sunday at lunchtime, it  _ is _ the first time Quinn has seen him since he dropped him off at the bus on Friday afternoon. When he answers the door, Sebastián is holding a grocery bag in one hand, and his laptop in the other. “Hey,  _ cariño _ ,” he sings, and no sooner has he put his stuff down upon Quinn letting him inside than does he sweep him off the ground.

Quinn shrieks, and then laughs, as he hangs on tight. “ _ Sebastián _ !”

In lieu of an actual reply, Sebastián hums, squeezing him tight around the waist as he buries his face in his neck. Quinn winds his legs around his middle. When Sebastián finally speaks, it’s to announce, “Are you ready for your Christmas movie education?”

“I’m very ready for it,” Quinn replies, and takes the opportunity in his arms to inform him, “And you smell very nice, by the way. Did you just wash this sweatshirt?”

“Well…” Sebastián’s grin is cheeky, when he lifts his head. “Team laundry, but it still counts, right? You can wear it if you want. I’ll trade you for that one.”

Quinn looks down at what’s currently on his person. It’s the sweatshirt he stole the morning after their first kiss, with the nice, gold lettering across the chest. He catalogued it as optimal movie-date snuggling attire, but if Sebastián is offering… “I suppose this one has lost its smell a bit.”

“Sweet,” Sebastián says, and then, without warning, jumps onto the edge of Quinn’s bed. Quinn shrieks again, and winds himself tighter around the top of him. What comes next is a kiss, long and very much welcomed. Quinn threads his hand into his curls, and it is a very sweet thing.

“I missed you this weekend,” Sebastián says, when they take a moment to breathe.

“I missed you, too.” Quinn meets his eyes, and pauses a moment before he asks, “Stay here tonight?”

Sebastián’s smile is lopsided. Quinn wants to kiss his dimple. “Yeah, of course.”

Then Quinn  _ does _ kiss his dimple, and he winds up kissing him a few more times, as they settle into the soft comfort of his bed all set up for movie time. When they untangle themselves to get properly ready, Sebastián draws the grocery bag into his lap. “So I was at Walmart yesterday in Vermont with Teegs,” he begins. “And, uh, I picked some stuff up for us.” He rifles through it and pulls out a small assortment of Christmas candy, plus a pack of red-filled Holiday Oreos, and— be still Quinn’s heart— a pair of fuzzy Christmas socks. “These are for you,” he says, placing them in Quinn’s lap. They’re white with blue snowflakes all over them, and Quinn is going to melt, right here and now. “I thought they could add to the experience.”

“Of  _ course _ they’ll add to the experience,” he replies, and so while Sebastián opens up his laptop and gets things set up, Quinn swaps his plain wool socks for the fuzzy ones. They’re maybe the most comfortable socks he’s ever put on, and he considers himself quite the sock person, so that’s saying something.

He turns the overhead light off in his room, so it’s just them and the string lights hung over his pride flag, plus the wintry gray of the midday light through the window. When he’s satisfied with the ambience, he takes a brief moment, standing at the center of his rug, to admire the way Sebastián looks, all cozy and ready with the laptop in his bed. Sebastián must notice him looking, because he waves.

“You gonna join me,  _ cariño _ ?” he asks, and pulls back the comforter for emphasis. In just the warm light of the string lights, plus the glow of his laptop screen, Sebastián is the most handsome, snuggly boy in the whole world.

Quinn still can’t believe this is all his.

“Indeed I will,” he tells him, then closes the small distance between them, crossing the rug and hopping up into bed. “But before we start, one more thing.”

Sebastián reclines back into the pillows. “Go for it.”

Quinn says nothing at all, but gestures to his sweatshirt, with a coy smile, before he pulls the one he’s wearing off of himself. Sebastián laughs, and complies with the switch. Approximately twenty seconds later, Quinn is extremely satisfied, wrapped up not only in the new sweatshirt and its fresh boyfriend scent but also in said boyfriend’s actual arms. Sebastián kisses him twice before he pulls him into standard movie cuddle position— half in his lap, half across his legs. Quinn settles by his shoulder and waits, as he places his laptop in a spot they can both see.

“So I made us a list,” Sebastián starts, as he rests his arm around his shoulders, another standard component of cuddle position. “I figure we can knock off as many movies from it as we can before break, and then what we don’t watch, we can do Skype dates for when we’re home.”

“That sounds lovely,” Quinn assures him, because he’s already soft beyond words on the effort Sebastián is putting in to make this Christmas season more festive for him. This week alone, he sent him a playlist of holiday music. Quinn has been listening through it, and it makes for wonderful ambience when he wants some musical background noise.

“Good,” he says, and kisses his temple. “Today, I picked us two. One’s kinda short; it’s an old cartoon, and the other’s a regular length. I think you’ll like them both. We can take a break between them if you want.”

“I’m completely at your disposal, honey,” he murmurs. “The afternoon is ours.”

“Sweet.” Sebastián jostles him a little, and Quinn giggles into his chest. He then watches, as he opens up the browser on his laptop, and finds the page where he’s rented the first movie. Its still is an animated mailman, and its title is in red lettering, and not entirely unfamiliar:  _ Santa Claus is Comin’ To Town _ . 

“This shit was my childhood,” Sebastián explains. “And— baby, oh— you don’t  _ have _ to keep your ears on, but there is music, so that’s just an FYI.”

“Oh— thank you, honey.” Turning his ears off was the next thing on his list for getting comfy, but in movies with a soundtrack, he likes to hear the music. “I’d like to hear it, then.”

“I thought you might.” Sebastián smiles, and Quinn watches his cursor as he goes and turns the subtitles on anyway. It’s enough to make his heart flutter. These little things he does, the thoughtful things, based on learned information in this month of dating— they’re sweet beyond what Quinn has words for. He truly is the most lovely boy.

Next, he hovers his cursor over the play button, and looks down to him. “Ready?”

Quinn nods. He kisses him, a quick one, and replies, “Very ready.”

Sebastián hits  _ play _ , and Quinn tucks his head into his shoulder, and that’s all he needs. He spends the entire rest of the afternoon with wonderful, festive cinema, in the strong, snuggly arms of the world’s sweetest boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you would like to know, the second movie was A Christmas Story. The humor in that movie is Quinn's exact type of humor. Also, Quinn loves old-fashioned things.


	10. the nap

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 10 of 25! For the first night of Hanukkah, I am here to bestow upon you some more good Cole content. This time with Ben. And if you are Jewish, happy Hanukkah to you!  
> [PROMPT: In which we examine the intricate post-holiday-meal napping rituals of one 29-year-old Cole Kolinsky.........](https://sincerelyreidburke.tumblr.com/post/637147820166660096/for-kiersey-holiday-content-give-me-soft-cole)

_ seven years after Cole’s graduation, at Hanukkah _

There are a lot of things Cole loves about Hanukkah, but his favorite part is the nap.

It’s become so consistent for him that he feels like it should be ceremonial. Although he reserves the right to nap on any of the eight nights at Mom’s house, the ceremonial nap happens on night one every year. That’s mostly because night one is always the biggest night, in his family; Mom cooks and fries up a storm, and he, Ben, and Zaydeh are invited over for dinner. Sure, they’re a small crowd, but Cole prefers it that way— always has, even when it was just him, Mom, and Zaydeh. Any holiday at Dad’s house is a lot more of a clusterfuck, with various extended relatives being loud and asking him uncomfortable questions, and, well— let’s just say Cole much prefers the intimate, quietly celebratory gatherings at Mom’s house. Plus, Zaydeh is enough chaos all on his own to turn almost any family gathering into a party.

The point is. Night one is always Cole’s favorite. They do something every night at Mom’s, but night one is the biggest dinner, the most decoration, the night when any gift-giving takes place. And most importantly, night one is the night of the nap.

This year is no exception. It’s his third Hanukkah with Ben, which means that Ben now knows this routine well enough to make fun of him. Cole discovers this while he’s getting ready, tying his tie in front of the mirror in their bedroom. Ben walks in from the bathroom, in dress pants and no shirt with his hair up in a towel (which is, well, a look, if Cole is being honest), and the first thing he does is whistle.

Cole feels objectified, but in a good way, which, uh, is an experience unique to his relationship with Ben. He keeps tying and asks, “Is that your official outfit for the night?”

Ben laughs. He pulls his hair out of the towel, and hangs it on the back of the bathroom door. “Yeah,” he says. “But you’re in luck. I also have suspenders.”

“Ooh.” He pulls the knot on his tie up to his throat. “Very sexy. I’m sure my eighty-eight year old grandfather will approve—”

“Oh, please. Zaydeh loves me.” Ben strolls over to him, as he’s tucking the back of the tie into the front. Cole pauses a moment, as Ben stands behind him, rests a hand on his waist, and kisses his shoulder. When he next speaks, his voice is quieter. “You excited for your nap tonight?”

Cole laughs. “Hey, your hair is wet,” he says. “Careful on my jacket.”

“It’s just water,” Ben replies, “but hold on.” He moves away from him a moment to tie his hair back, then leans back in and wraps both arms around him from behind. This time, he kisses his neck. Cole smiles at their reflection.

“Thank you,” he says, then, “and yes, I am excited for my nap. You remembered that?”

“Uh, yeah, I remember.” Ben grins at him, and he turns to meet his eyes properly, so he isn’t looking at them in the mirror anymore. “It’s only, like, your favorite part of Hanukkah.”

“That’s… not completely true,” Cole protests, even though deep down, it mostly is.

“It’s okay,” Ben whispers, very conspiratorially. His green eyes are bright and handsome, in the natural light through the big wall window. “Your secret is safe with me.”

Cole presses his lips together to avoid laughing again. He taps the side of Ben’s bicep, the part of his sleeve that’s a lighthouse. “Are you planning on actually getting ready anytime soon?” he asks. “We have to be at my mom’s before dark.”

“I told you,” Ben says, with a smirk, “this is my outfit.”

“Ooh, nice.” Cole reaches to the bureau, and grabs his rings— four of them in all, two silver, a tiered black one, and his engagement ring, solid black, the only one that consistently stays on the same finger. His black nail polish is kind of chipped, and he’s looking at his hand, wondering if he should fix it, when Ben plants one on him out of nowhere.

Cole laughs against his mouth, and rests his hand at the shower-damp back of his neck to kiss him back. When they pull away, Ben says, “Just give me ten minutes to blow dry my hair, and we’re outta here.”

Cole almost asks if he’s planning on putting a shirt on, but Ben’s shirt, tie, and jacket are laid out on the bed, so he skips the ass-busting and kisses him one more time instead. “Thank you,” he says. Ben boops his glasses up the bridge of his nose, then disappears back into the bathroom.

From the bed, next to Ben’s stuff, Cole grabs his kippah. In the mirror, he combs his bangs to the side, then smiles at himself just a little when he puts it on. This completes the formal holiday outfit— he’s ready to go.

It’s nice to feel mostly comfortable in your own skin.

*

The road to the nap is one full of many other traditions.

When they step through the front door, Mom’s house smells like frying oil, challah, and home. She greets them each with hugs, and Zaydeh is waiting in the kitchen, and he immediately starts yelling about the third installment of his and Ben’s ongoing dreidel war, and Cole gets yelled at by Mom when he literally just  _ looks _ at her loaf of challah ( _ Cole Aaron Kolinsky, so help me, if you touch that before we eat dinner you won’t get ANY more _ )— and so night one begins.

Before all else, they light the menorah, and then Mom fries up a storm while Ben and Zaydeh go at it with dreidel— Zaydeh has stocked up on gelt; he always supplies it. He royally whoops Ben’s ass, and Cole laughs the entire time as he watches, except when he’s sneaking away to steal a latke from Mom that winds up burning his mouth a little, but that’s okay because it’s a homemade latke, and that’s worth pretty much any burn on your tongue.

“I told you!” When Ben loses out on a big pile of gelt, Zaydeh waves his finger in his face. “I told you I’m the reigning champion.”

“Oh, I surrender,” Ben replies, holding up both hands and shaking his head. “Like, I’ll keep playing. But I won’t come between you and your chocolate.”

“Good.” Zaydeh piles it all in front of himself, and nods at Ben. “Good man.”

By the light of the two burning candles at the table, they have an oily feast— more latkes, and sufganiyot with raspberry filling and powdered sugar, loukoumades and honey, and best, the coveted challah. Cole eats his weight in sweet, fried food, as is yet another part of tradition. While they eat, Ben gets his latest lesson in Jewish history. Zaydeh loves telling the Maccabean stories; Cole was a yearly subject for his storytelling when he was younger. Having a new person in the house has given him a new subject, and Ben is a gracious listener.

But it’s after all of that— after the prayers, after the dreidel tournament, after the dinner and the stories— at the end of all of that,  _ that’s _ when Cole’s favorite part is.

It comes after he’s hung his jacket on the back of his chair, so he can eat to his heart’s content. After he’s helped Mom with the dishes. After Ben has made fun of him for continuing to take small, additional pieces of the challah. After Zaydeh has turned the TV on and migrated to the living room.

Cole settles into the corner of Mom’s couch, takes off his shoes, and rests his head on a couch pillow. He’s full of delicious, oily food, and the house is so warm, and Ben is next to him, laughing with Mom as Zaydeh tells a story about losing his cart at the grocery store. “Dad,” Mom is saying. “I can come with you to the story. Why don’t you just call me?”

Zaydeh wags his finger at her. “I have to do it myself!” he insists. “I’m not that old!”

Cole laughs, and takes his glasses off, pressing his face into the pillow. Without a word, Ben knows to take them from him. “Thank you,” Cole mumbles, as he watches him tuck them into his dress shirt pocket.

“You’re welcome,” Ben replies. He’s blurry without glasses to help the view, but Cole still gives him a squinty smile from his slumped spot below. “See you in an hour.”

“Or longer,” Cole mumbles, and a yawn catches him at the end of his sentence. He rests his head on the couch pillow. Everything is warm, and he’s full, and he’s ready.

It’s time for his nap.

*

When Cole wakes up, he’s just as warm. Ben’s hand is resting on his shoulder, but not in the way where someone is trying to wake you; it’s just there. The TV is a faint sound in the background, and the talking around him has gotten quieter.

Until he opens his eyes, and Zaydeh must notice, from over in the arm-chair. “Oho!” he cries, at full volume, and  _ that _ wakes Cole right up. “Look who’s awake! Sleepyhead!”

He lets out a noise somewhere between a groan and a yawn, and sits up from his slouch, rubbing his eyes. “How was your food coma, Cole?” he hears Mom ask.

“Amazing,” he replies, and feels a little blindly around on Ben’s person right next to him until he grabs his glasses from his pocket.

Ben laughs, as he’s slipping them on. “I could have handed them to you.”

He shakes his head, rubs his eyes again, and does not elaborate. He’s fully aware that all three of them are laughing at them, and he couldn’t be less offended. They’re family, and if they’re entertained by this, then fine. Joke’s on them. He’s in a complete state of Hanukkah-induced peace.

_ That’s _ the best part of the holiday.

He’s already looking forward to next year’s.

When they get in the car to go home, Ben starts the engine, then reaches over from the driver’s seat to squeeze his hand. “Did you have a good night?”

“It was great,” he says, still just a little drowsy, despite a solid thirty minutes having elapsed between waking up from his nap and getting up to leave. He’ll sleep amazing tonight; he’s already looking forward to it. Mom has placed the menorah in the window, and he can see the candlelight from the driveway.

He looks to Ben, and smiles at him in the dark of the car. “Really great,” he amends, and, for no good reason other than it’s true, tells him, “I love you.”

Ben smiles right back. He leans across the console to give him a kiss, and Cole lets it linger. They have nowhere to be but home, in bed, and it’s only a short drive. Tomorrow is a Saturday, and the weekend is all theirs.

“I love you, too,” Ben says.

So yeah, the nap is the highlight. It always will be. But this comes pretty close, too.


	11. the great cookie date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 11 of 25 calls for more Quinn and Nando fluff, but this time, with cookies. I feel like "baking Christmas cookies" is a pretty standard shippy holiday prompt, right? If not, you're about to read just that anyway, so prepare yourself, LOL. It's a sweet little one-shot, and might be one of my favorites so far.  
> [PROMPT: Quinn and Nando do some festive baking.](https://sincerelyreidburke.tumblr.com/post/637237180828368896/day-11-more-quindo-fluff-but-this-time-with)

_ Nando’s freshman year _

_ december 6th, 2018 _

_ iMessage _

_ 12/6/18, 6:13 PM _

_ Me: hey baby _

_ Me: what time does your drama meeting end? _

_ Baby🥰🏳️🌈🧣: 7:00! _

_ Baby🥰🏳️🌈🧣: Why?🤍 _

_ Me: and on a scale of one to ten how urgent is your homework situation _

_ Me: like for tomorrow _

_ Me: as in, do you have to do homework when you get back _

_ Baby🥰🏳️🌈🧣: I sense you’re planning something. _

_ Baby🥰🏳️🌈🧣: And it’s approximately a 3… _

_ Baby🥰🏳️🌈🧣: I only have a reading due tomorrow. _

_ Me: okay _

_ Me: i can work with that🥰 _

_ Baby🥰🏳️🌈🧣: I’m very curious.🥰🥰 _

_ Me: i’m gonna keep you in suspense _

_ Me: BUT _

_ Me: only for the next hour _

_ Me: meet me in the wilson basement when you’re done?❤️❤️ _

_ Me: you can bring your hw _

_ Baby🥰🏳️🌈🧣: Count me in.🤍🤍 _

_ Baby🥰🏳️🌈🧣: I suppose I’ll see you soon, then! _

_ Me: yes you will🥰🥰🥰 _

_ Me: have fun at the meeting! _

*

This morning, Nando asked God for a favor: he asked Him to clear the common kitchen in the dorm tonight. He guesses it’s a little bit of a funny thing to ask God for, but he would really, really like for nobody else to be using the kitchen— because if not, his plans for the night can’t happen. So he asks God about it, and hopes He’ll come through.

When, right after team dinner, he brings himself and a big grocery bag down to the basement, where the common kitchen is, there’s nobody in sight.

Nando pumps his fist, and says a little prayer of thanks. Then he drops his supply bag on the main kitchen counter, and prepares to occupy this place like a damn military fort for the next several hours.

It’s going to be a good night.

He has to admit: the basement of Wilson Hall isn’t the most ideal location for what he wants to do. For one thing, the kitchen is small, and there’s limited counter space. He’s cooked in here before, but he always feels a little restricted, like his mess is too big for the size of the kitchen itself. Other vibe killers include the weird, artificial lighting, the questionable stains all over the carpet around him, and the fact that it’s right across from the laundry room, so there’s a pretty steady stream of traffic, all guys bringing or taking their laundry baskets.

Nando  _ probably _ could have asked to use the kitchen at Beech Street, where the team’s upperclassmen live, for this. It’s bigger, and more homey, and there aren’t constantly freshman guys walking by and judging you. But he kind of chickened out— he’s already going to use the Beech kitchen this weekend, to make hot chocolate for his teammates and Quinn, and he doesn’t want to overstep or push his freshman limits. So the solution was: spend tonight in the Wilson kitchen. Go to Beech this weekend.

It’s a compromise. Plus, tonight is a one-time thing for the Christmas season. There’s always next year.

With all his stuff laid out, he checks the time. It’s just before 6:30, which leaves him with just the right amount of time to get stuff ready before Quinn gets back from his drama club thing. Nando can’t even lie: he’s excited. He’s been dreaming about having this kind of date since he and Quinn started dating. Even before Quinn, he always wanted to do something like this with a boyfriend. Nate was never super into the stuff he planned for them to do together around the holidays, so they didn’t wind up doing that many of them.

Anyway. Fuck that guy. Nando is on to much,  _ much _ better things. Standing at the counter in the basement, while he looks through his phone for his Christmas playlist, he actually can’t believe how much better he’s doing now, with the semester almost over, than he was at the start.

He was excited, sure. But he had no idea just how good college was actually going to be.

He shuffles the playlist, keeps the volume low, and opens a bag of flour. It’s time to get ready.

*

It’s cold outside when Quinn walks out of the Beckett Performing Arts Center, and he is in no way prepared for it. “Oh, goodness!” He tucks his chin into his scarf. “I’m not a fan of  _ this _ weather; I’ll tell you that.”

“That makes two of us,” Maggie replies, huddling her arms around herself as she falls into step next to him. They start down the sidewalk, toward the freshman dorms, and she mumbles about the cold a moment before she asks, “Where are you going right now?”

“Back to Wilson,” Quinn replies. The cold is  _ biting _ , and he’s just grateful he was bundled up when he walked over for the drama club meeting. “Sebastián is being very cryptic. I think he has some kind of date planned.”

“You are such a spoiled bitch,” Maggie says. “A date on a Thursday night? Is this guy even real?”

“I assure you,” he replies, flashing her a smile, “he is entirely real. I have trouble believing that myself, sometimes.”

Maggie rolls her eyes, and Quinn just smiles wider. “Well, you better text me,” she says after a moment. “I want details.”

“Of course I’ll text you.” He pats her shoulder— or at least the part of her winter jacket where her shoulder is. “I would never deprive you of details.”

Maggie flashes a grin. “I know you wouldn’t.”

They part ways at the fork in the sidewalk, where one path leads to Wilson Hall, and the other to Foundry, where Maggie lives. “Don’t be late to breakfast!” she calls.

He gives her a royalty wave, then blows a kiss. “I wouldn’t miss it!”

He loves Maggie. She understands him. They operate on the exact same snappy wavelength.

It’s warmer— much warmer, thank goodness— when he gets through the front door of Wilson. The first floor common room is buzzing, or at least to the extent that a common room can be buzzing on a Thursday night with finals looming. There are a few guys playing a rather rowdy game of what looks like Mario Kart on one of the TVs, and the RA on duty is watching the news on another. It’s Quinn’s RA, in fact, so he waves to him on his way by.

With a quick run up to his room, he drops off his jacket, scarf, hat, and the like, then takes his backpack with him down to the basement. Even given his general excitement from the texting with Sebastián earlier, he’s completely unprepared for what he finds when he rounds the corner to the common kitchen.

Sebastián is here, all right— but it’s not just the boy himself that puts butterflies in Quinn’s stomach. What’s more is the  _ scene _ he’s created in the kitchen. It’s a sight to be beholden.

“Baby!” Sebastián waves, with the sweetest, most excited smile, upon Quinn’s entrance. He’s at the counter in the common kitchen, with the sleeves of his Kiersey Hockey sweatshirt rolled up, and flour in his curly hair. There’s Christmas music playing, faintly, from his phone, which rests on the edge of the counter. Right now, it’s “Winter Wonderland.”

Quinn walks to him, and to prevent himself from swooning, he leans on the other end of the counter. “Hello, Sebastián,” he hums, then takes in the view at the counter.

There are three big, plastic bowls spread out, and each of them has a different kind of dough inside; Sebastián has his hands in one, mixing through it. There’s a near-empty bag of flour tipped on its side, and scattered around the counter is a variety of plastic measuring cups and spoons he recognizes from other times Sebastián has cooked. What brings him great joy is what sits at the  _ edge _ of the counter— which very much clarifies the purpose of all of this. It’s a baking sheet, with a few cookie cutters resting on top of it.

“How was your thing?” Sebastián asks, mixing away, with that goofy, lovely smile on his face. “Was it festive?”

Quinn completely bypasses this, because he’s too busy putting a hand to his heart. “Oh, my goodness,” he says, and meets Sebastián’s eyes to ask, “Are we about to do what I think we are?”

“Well, if what you think we’re about to do is make Christmas cookies, then yeah!” Sebastián lifts his doughy hands, and gestures to the counter’s spread. “I really wanted to make  _ buñuelos  _ with you, but I don’t have a good pan to fry them in, so I thought we could bake instead. But don’t worry; I’ll make sure I have the right pan next year. For  _ now _ …” While Quinn daydreams of multiple Christmases with this boy, he tries to focus on the explanation of what’s going on on the counter. “This is dough from my papa’s  _ marranitos _ recipe, which is gingerbread cookies with an egg wash, basically, and then this chocolate one is for crinkle cookies; those get rolled in powdered sugar, and then this— well, this is just plain sugar dough. I have sanding sugar to put on those. We can roll stuff out together, and you can do your homework while they bake!”

He flashes a thumbs-up. The dough he’s been kneading is the ginger one, apparently. Quinn laughs in spite of himself. Maggie was right— is this boy even real?

“Does that… sound okay?” Sebastián says, after his explanation is through. His voice grows a little sheepish, and rushed. “I know it’s a lot. We don’t have to do it all tonight, I just— well, I thought we should do this together, ‘cause I’ve always wanted to have a Christmas cookie date, and—”

Quinn leans across the counter all the way, and cuts him off with a gentle kiss. Thank goodness, Sebastián has the decency to keep his doughy hands off of Quinn’s sweater, while also kissing back. Quinn holds him by the front of his sweatshirt, and when he releases him, he doesn’t miss a moment before assuring him. “Sebastián, this is beyond lovely.”

“Oh.” The sheepish part of his smile disappears, and he melts right back into the doofy grin. “Sweet.”

“And  _ thank _ you,” Quinn adds, rounding the edge of the counter so he can join him on the other side. “Did you make all this dough by yourself?”

“Well, yeah, of course I did.” Sebastián bumps his hip against his. “What kind of boyfriend do you think I am?”

Quinn giggles. “Certainly not the kind who buys store-bought dough, apparently.”

He kisses the top of his head, then turns to rinse his hands off in the sink. The song coming from his phone changes over— next up is “Joy To The World,” except it’s an instrumental version, some sort of orchestral setting. Quinn hums gently along with the melody.

“Oh, do you like my music?” Sebastián asks, as he scrubs his hands. “This is my Christmas playlist, so there might be some throwback stuff from my childhood on here. Just be prepared.”

“Okay,” he replies. “I’m prepared.”

When Sebastián turns around from the sink, he shakes out his hands, then dries them on a dish towel Quinn recognizes from his room that he’s placed near his cookie sheet. “Dealer’s choice, baby!” he announces, and claps as he approaches the counter. “Which dough’s up first?”

“Hmmm.” Quinn places his pointer finger on his cheek as he surveys the three bowls, then looks up at him to decide, “Ginger,” out loud.

“Aw, I should’ve thought ahead.” Sebastián ruffles his hair on the way by, then grabs the ginger bowl, dusting a small handful of flour into it. “You’re not supposed to eat your own kind.”

“ _ Sebastián _ .” Quinn smacks his arm, and Sebastián laughs loud, hard, and beautiful, with his head tipped to the ceiling.

“It’s delicious, though,” Sebastián adds, as he scoops a hunk of dough out and places it on the counter. He’s rolled out some wax paper, Quinn notes, to buffer the dough from the actual counter surface, and thank goodness for that. Quinn wouldn’t trust most surfaces in this dorm. “Here.” Quinn watches as he pinches off a piece of the dough, and smiles when he holds it up for him.

He lets Sebastián feed it to him, and nods his approval as the sweet, ginger-spiced flavor takes hold. “Oh, that is  _ very _ delicious,” he remarks.

“I told you.” Sebastián reaches to the side of his mess, for a small rolling pin. Quinn has no idea where he got all of these supplies, but he supposes that’s all part of the Christmas magic. “How should we do it? I’ll roll and you cut?”

“That sounds good to me.” Quinn folds his hands behind his back to examine the cookie cutters. “Goodness knows I shouldn’t be allowed within a ten-foot radius of the stove.”

Sebastián grins at him, and then leans into the dough to roll it out. All of a sudden, with flour on his forearms and his sleeves rolled up, he looks distinctly, handsomely domestic. It’s yet another reason Quinn wants to swoon. “That’s what you have me for,” he says, and winks.

Quinn smiles to himself, as he picks up a cookie cutter shaped like a gingerbread man. While he waits for Sebastián to roll the dough out, he watches the way his curls bounce, and then Sebastián says, “These are shaped like pigs, at home. Next year, I’ll bring you my pig cutter.”

Quinn arches an eyebrow, and looks at the gingerbread man in his hand. “Why pigs?”

“I’m… not sure, actually.” Sebastián shrugs airily, then steps back from the rolled-out dough. “It’s all yours, baby!”

Quinn reaches over, to press the cutter into the dough— but just before he cuts the first cookie, he gets a rush, out of nowhere, of soft gratitude. All of this dough, all these supplies, all this festive atmosphere— Sebastián did all of this for him, tonight. Not because he asked, or based on any plan they made. But because he’s kind, and thoughtful, and endlessly sweet. Quinn grabs his sleeve, and looks up to him to meet his eyes. “Sebastián,” he says. “Thank you.”

Sebastián plays dumb. He cocks his head, and keeps smiling. “For what?”

“For— everything. All of this.” Quinn waves his hand around the counter, then places it on his heart to look back up at him. “I  _ love _ this,” he says. “I— I have no words.”

“Those are words,” Sebastián teases, then kisses his forehead. “I’m glad you like it, baby. I thought this was a good Christmas date idea.”

“We can make it a yearly tradition,” he posits, and this time he really  _ does _ cut out his first gingerbread man. Sebastián grabs him the cookie sheet, and he places the cookie carefully onto the corner, successfully maintaining its friendly shape.

When he’s placed it, Sebastián kisses his cheek and replies, “I’d love that.”

Quinn isn’t sure he could smile any harder. “Good; so would I,” he says, and with that, they really get to work.

*

Nando has a lot of domestic fantasies of Quinn already, and baking with him in the dorm basement does absolutely nothing but add to the list.

Not that that’s a bad thing. He’s perfectly happy with all his daydreams, and he’ll welcome any future daydream just the same. But it really does him in to work around each other in this kitchen, laughing and chirping and tasting raw cookie dough, getting flour on each other’s hands and faces. When they’re on the last few dozen of the last kind of cookie, the sugar dough, Quinn hops up onto a stool at the counter, while Nando spreads the dozens of previously baked cookies out on the cooling rack. Quinn is theoretically working on his reading for chemistry class, but right now, he’s smiling at him across the counter, with his cheek resting in his hand. Nando isn’t sure any actual reading is getting done. (Not that he’s complaining.) “Honey,” Quinn says, and Nando is never going to get over this boy calling him that. “What exactly do you plan to do with ten dozen cookies?”

“Well, actually,” he replies, as he places a cooled batch of  _ marranitos  _ into a container. “I planned ahead for that.”

Quinn raises his eyebrows, leaning further into his hand. “Pray tell.”

“Well, obviously there’s some for me and you,” he begins, “and then I thought you could give some to Maggie. And maybe other drama people?” Quinn nods a little, and he adds, “I don’t know if I’ll be able to get out of giving some to Rho and Remy, and then I figure whatever we don’t eat, my other teammates will, like, gladly take care of.”

Quinn laughs. He nods, and smooths the swoopy part of his hair. “I’m impressed,” he says. “You did plan ahead.”

“I take cookies seriously,” Nando remarks. He eyes a chocolate crinkle cookie on the edge of the cooling rack. It’s a little smaller than the others, and it’s calling his name. He picks it up and takes a bite out of it, and it’s fucking  _ heavenly _ , with a sweet, crisp outside and a chewy inside, just like God intended. He hums his satisfaction, then passes the rest of the cookie across the counter to Quinn. “Baby, try this. It’s good shit.”

Quinn complies, and Nando watches for his reaction while he chews. Nando knows a good food reaction from Quinn when he sees one— he’ll put his hand on his chest and swoon, which is exactly what happens now, across the counter. “My goodness,” he says, when he’s finished chewing. “That  _ is _ good. It’s delicious.”

“We did good, baby.” He seals the top of the  _ marranito _ container, and right then, the song changes over on his phone— from “O Holy Night” to a bright, lively instrumental. He shoots a glance at where his phone is sitting, and then laughs— it’s one of the  _ villancicos _ his grandparents play at their house at Christmas, traditional music Papa loved. The music sounds just like being younger, just like home. “Wait, Quinn—” he says, and rushes around to the other side of the counter. Quinn swivels in his stool at the counter, and presses his cheek into his hand again, facing him on the other side this time. “Come on,” he says, and takes his hand, bouncing on the soles of his sneakers. “I love this song.”

Quinn raises an eyebrow, with the cutest fucking smile in the whole world on his freckly face. “Are you asking me to dance with you?”

“Yeah!” he cries, with a laugh, and he guesses that’s all Quinn needs, because he jumps off the stool in no time, and the small carpet space behind the counter is their dance floor. Nando actually knows how to dance to this music— it’s how they dance at parties at home. Quinn is small, so it’s easy to lead him, and he seems pleasantly surprised to be whisked off into a dance.

“You didn’t tell me you could dance like this,” he laughs.

“This is my music, baby,” Nando tells him, and it’s like dancing on air— right until about halfway through the song, when some guy walks past them to get to the laundry room. Nando stops to let him by, and he can feel a stare of judgement on them for dancing to Spanish Christmas music in the middle of the basement.

Quinn hides his blushing face in his chest, staying close but giggling. Nando watches the guy go, then shrugs. He doesn’t care. He’s pretty sure there are plenty of residents of Wilson Hall who know the two of them as ‘the gay couple in the dorm.’

He kisses the top of Quinn’s head, then looks down at him; Quinn lifts his eyes to meet him, and smiles, swooning right into his embrace. “Wow,” Quinn hums. “You’re quite the dance partner.”

Nando holds him by the waist. “You haven’t seen me at my peak.”

“Ah, your peak,” he replies. “And that would be?”

“Hernandez family holidays, baby.” While Quinn laughs, Nando catches sight, out of the corner of his eye, of two more guys coming into the basement. Except unlike judgey laundry guy, these two guys are familiar. They’re coming down the stairs side-by-side, and they’re both in Kiersey Hockey sweatshirts. Nando laughs a little. He figures you can only disappear for so many hours on a Thursday night before your friends start to wonder where you are. In his defense, he  _ did _ tell Ben he was going to be in the basement.

“Okay,” Ben calls, already loud before he even fully reaches the kitchen, “we’ll leave you alone, if you guys want? But something smells fucking  _ amazing _ down here.”

Quinn turns, just in time to greet Ben and Remy on arrival, and wraps himself up in Nando’s arms. Nando complies, eagerly, because what are you going to do,  _ not _ hold onto your boyfriend when he’s wrapped around your chest? “We baked!” he tells them, with a grin.

“Benjamin,” Quinn says, with a nod. “Remy. How are you?”

“Hey, Q,” Remy says. He’s wearing his Olympics pom-pom hat.

“ _ Dude _ !” Ben is apparently far more interested in the cookies all over the counter than giving Quinn a proper greeting. “Fucking  _ sugar cookies _ ? Why wasn’t I invited to this party?”

“It was a date, Ben,” Remy mutters, pinching the bridge of his own nose.

“I’m  _ kidding _ , Rem. Jesus.” Ben hovers his hand over the cooling rack. “Can I sample this sexy sugared snowflake?”

“They might be warm,” Nando cautions. “Uh, eat at your own risk?”

“I’ll take the risk.” Ben pops the entire cookie into his mouth in one bite, chews, and then flashes two thumbs up. “Fucking  _ gas _ ,” is his review, before he’s even done chewing.

“Oh, goodness, Ben, not with your mouth open,” Quinn murmurs.

“Suck my entire ass, Quinny.” Ben leans on the counter. “I’m stealing all your cookies.”

_ Beeeeeeep.  _ The oven timer goes off; that’s the very last batch of crinkle cookies, and the last of the whole haul. Nando considers this to have been an  _ extremely _ successful date. For good measure, he kisses Quinn’s head, and then calls across the counter to Ben. “You can eat your heart out, but make yourself useful and take those crinkle cookies out first.”

“You’ve got yourself a deal, Hernandez.” Ben bends over to open the oven, and Nando watches the process to ensure nobody gets burned or killed. Surprisingly, he handles it without incident. Nando slow-claps for him. “Hey,  _ fuck you _ , smartass. I’m completely capable.”

“I see that,” Nando chirps.

Remy tucks his hands into his joggers’ pockets. “Can I help with dishes?”

“Aw, you don’t have to, Rem,” he tells him. “I pretty much cleaned almost everything already.”

“No, I want to.” Remy walks to the other side of the counter, where Ben is still hovering over the supply they baked. “We crashed your party.”

Quinn is warm, and soft, where he’s still leaning into his chest. Nando hugs him close, and smiles down at him. Ben was right— it  _ does _ smell amazing in this basement. It smells like happiness down here. When he meets Quinn’s eyes, bright blue-green and full of warmth, he tells him, “I guess they’re a hit.”

Quinn squeezes his eyes shut. His cheeks are red and everything. There’s nothing cuter in the world. “We did a lovely job.”

“I’m gonna fine both of your asses in about two seconds,” Ben cuts in.

“ _ Fuck _ off, Rho,” Nando says, and gives Quinn a kiss just to stick it to him.

“That’s a fine,” Ben announces.

“Five dollars,” Remy adds.

Nando guesses their little bubble in the kitchen is broken. But that’s okay. He has all his favorite people on campus in one room— and he’s going to enjoy the rest of his Thursday night with them.


	12. shinny!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 12 of 25! I’m sorry it’s a little late in the day, but hopefully it’s worth the wait! Today, you get another look at the lesser-known members of the Kiersey hockey team, especially the senior captain for their freshman year, Parker.  
> [PROMPT: Here are some Kiersey Men’s Hockey pond hockey shenanigans.](https://sincerelyreidburke.tumblr.com/post/637347769039912960/day-12-and-im-sorry-for-the-wait)

_ Nando’s freshman year _

_ Group: Kiersey Men’s Hockey _

_ 12/8/18, 6:13 PM _

_ Parker Borst: Hi guys! Happy reading weekend! I just got confirmation that THE POND IS FROZEN🎊🎊🎊 so we’re going to have captain’s practice tomorrow at 11 for anybody who can make it! I’d love to get the team together one last time before finals😊 _

_ Parker Borst: And that’s at the orchard pond, not Meelia! _

_ Alex Santiago liked a message _

_ Alex Santiago: see you there capn _

_ Parker Borst: Thanks Teegs! _

_ Alex Santiago: 😍😍 _

_ Sebastián Hernandez: wait omg _

_ Sebastián Hernandez: we’re skating on the orchard pond?? _

_ Parker Borst: Yes! _

_ Sam Nguyen: Nando have you never played shinny? _

_ Sebastián Hernandez: no i haven’t!! _

_ Ben Shaley: for REAL?! _

_ Sebastián Hernandez: i mean, shinny is just pond hockey right? _

_ Sebastián Hernandez: we don’t have frozen ponds in arizona... _

_ Ben Shaley: wow we’re taking nando’s shinny virginity _

_ Remy Tremblay: It’s so fun _

_ Sam Nguyen: ^^^^ _

_ Jordan Jefferson: dude you’ll love it _

_ Jordan Jefferson: kmh rite of passage _

_ Alex Santiago: facts _

_ Sam Nguyen: Ah yes a rich tradition _

_ Jordan Jefferson: @ park is it full dress? _

_ Parker Borst: Oh hahaha no, gloves and sticks should do _

_ Parker Borst: Unless your heart is telling you to show up in full pads. _

_ Jordan Jefferson: maybe i will _

_ Sam Nguyen: I support you jor _

_ Parker Borst: Ben, use your discretion _

_ Ben Shaley: will do _

_ Sebastián Hernandez: so 11 tomorrow morning?? _

_ Parker Borst: Yes! _

_ Sebastián Hernandez: SWEET _

_ Sebastián Hernandez: i am so excited _

_ Alex Santiago: pull up at beech 8pm christmas rager _

_ Jordan Jefferson: thank you teegs very cool _

_ Alex Santiago: i’m serious _

_ Alex Santiago: rocco made christmas jungle juice _

_ Rocco Mahone: Can confirm _

_ Rocco Mahone: Its fire _

_ Alex Santiago: ^^^^^ _

_ Alex Santiago: also i have christmas lights up everywhere _

_ Jordan Jefferson: this doesn’t sound like a very inclusive rager _

_ Alex Santiago: celebrators of all holidays welcome _

_ Alex Santiago: tell your jewish friends to bring their menorahs _

_ Brandon O’Malley: Park is tomorrow mandatory _

_ Parker Borst: No, but it’ll be fun! _

_ Alex Santiago: ^^^ _

_ Alex Santiago: dont be fucking lame bran _

_ Brandon O’Malley: I’m seeing my girlfriend tomorrow _

_ Alex Santiago: oooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH _

_ Ben Shaley: SIMP ALERT!!!! _

_ Alex Santiago: sounds like somebody is WHIPPED _

_ Rocco Mahone: Can we fine him _

_ Sam Nguyen: ^ _

_ Jordan Jefferson: ^ _

_ Ben Shaley: ^ _

_ Brandon O’Malley: Whatever _

_ Brandon O’Malley: Sorry I actually have a girlfriend _

_ Parker Borst: It’s okay Brandon, it’s not mandatory. I hope you have fun! _

_ Brandon O’Malley: Thanks _

_ Alex Santiago: soooooooooo whose coming to beech _

*

_ sunday, december 9th _

Sunday morning is crisp, sharp cold, and Nando is already excited from the moment the day dawns. He wakes up in Quinn’s room— don’t tell Mama— and spends a snuggly little while with his boyfriend before it’s time to get breakfast and go. Quinn offers to lend him a scarf, and he agrees that would probably be good style but thinks it’s maybe not the most practical thing to wear while playing outdoor hockey. After deliberating that, Quinn eventually agrees.

Instead, Nando wears his Coyotes stocking cap, the one with a pom-pom on it, and stops at Meelia with Ben and Remy on the walk up to the orchard to get their gloves, sticks, and skates. It turns out they’re not the only ones to do that, because the locker room has been raided already this morning. Teegs’ spot is a mess, clothes everywhere like a fricking bomb went off, and Nando laughs as he thinks about how much he’s going to chirp him over it.

It’s a nice walk up to the orchard— like, sure, it’s cold, but as he comes to the end of fall semester, Nando dares to say that he might be getting  _ used _ to the cold. Or at least more adjusted to it than he was when it started getting cold in the first place. (He  _ is _ kind of looking forward to normal weather when he gets home next week, though.) The whole way up, he talks and laughs with Ben and Remy, and tries not to think too hard about how much he’ll miss his friends over winter break. He figures the best thing he can do is enjoy the moment, and he’s  _ really _ excited to enjoy today.

The orchard pond is off to the side, on the furthest edge of campus, surrounded by apple trees. There’s a thin layer of snow on the ground, and when they get over the top of the orchard hill, Nando has to take a moment to stop and stare.

“ _ Wow _ ,” he says, maybe to Ben and Remy or maybe just to himself. “It’s like a winter wonderland up here!”

“The orchard’s a magical place, Nan,” Ben muses, as they crunch along towards the pond. He has a little more gear than Nando and Remy do, so he has an actual bag, with his helmet, glove, and blocker inside. “Full of apples and lost virginities…”

“Oh God,  _ ew _ ,” Nando groans, and Remy punches Ben in the arm.

“You have a sick mind,” Remy tells him. “You need Jesus.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m a lost cause, Rem.” Ben is grinning, like this is something he’s proud of. “Jesus can’t help me.”

“That’s not true,” Nando replies, and then, up ahead by the pond, he catches sight of their teammates.

A few are already on the ice— Jordy and Sam are either having a race or chasing each other around, and making all the noise that comes with it. They both wear sweatshirts with their respective NHL team logos (they’re the Penguins and the Avalanche, in that order). Parker and David are talking at the edge of the pond. They look responsible, like senior captains tend to be. A cluster of other teammates— Teegs, Rocco, Marc, and Ville— are all hanging out by a lone net, but the second he seems to catch sight of them, Teegs skates away from the cluster and yells at the top of his lungs. “ _ FRESHMEN _ !”

“ _ Teeeeeeeeeeeeeeegs _ ,” Nando calls, in response, and he guesses this is disruptive enough to get Parker’s attention, because Parker turns and waves like he’s just seeing them.

“Oh, good!” Nando hears Parker say, probably to David. “Now we have two teams.”

Nando looks out over the ice, as they reach the edge of the pond. It’s almost glistening, in the muted, cold winter daylight. It’s supposed to snow later, and the clouds are overcast, as if to prove it. It’s like something out of a Christmas movie. It looks  _ perfect _ for skating on— or at least as perfect as something that’s not a rink can be, for skating on.

“Thanks for coming, guys,” Parker says, as they stop near where everyone else is congregating. “I’m really glad you made it.”

“Park, your wish is our command.” Ben bows, which is extra as fuck but makes Parker laugh. Parker is wearing a Boston Bruins hat, because being a Bruins fan is kind of like his toxic trait. Remy has tried to convert him to be a Montreal fan on several different occasions—  _ you live closer to Montreal anyway _ , Remy argues— but Parker doesn’t budge. Besides being a Bruins fan, he’s a great captain.

Ben plops his ass directly into a snowbank to get his skates on, and Nando realizes there’s no other place to actually sit, so he follows his lead. On the other side of Ben, Remy does the same. “Sorry we’re late,” Remy says.

“You’re not late,” Parker assures them. “Plus, we’re not in a rush. I just thought this would be a good way to get people away from finals for a little bit.”

“I needed this,” Ben says, yanking off his boots one at a time. “This is my me time.”

Nando arches an eyebrow at him. “You said last night was your you time.”

“Well, it was.” Ben rolls his eyes. “Who says a guy can’t have as much me time as he wants? Jeez, Nan. You’re such a hater.”

Nando turns to Parker, as he pulls off his own shoes. “Before we went to Beech,” he explains, “he was doing a face mask and burning a candle. Which is  _ supposed _ to not be allowed in our dorm.” He shoots daggers at Ben, but Ben is tying his left skate with a big, merry grin on his face, and gives exactly zero fucks. Nando looks back to Parker, whose arms are folded; he looks like he’s trying to decide whether he should laugh or not. “I thought our RA was gonna bust us.”

“Our RA doesn’t give two shits,” Ben says.

“That’s actually kind of true,” Remy mumbles. “I’m pretty sure my roommate has smoked in our room before.”

“Gross!” Parker frowns. “That must smell awful, Remy. Have you reported him?”

Remy shakes his head, and shrugs. “I can’t prove it. Part of me thinks he just smells like that.”

“Well, you know what they say about those Europeans,” Ben says, and tuts a little, then grins out across the pond and calls, “Right, Ville?”

Ville turns, and raises an eyebrow. He’s wearing a Team Finland sweatshirt, which makes it funnier. “What?” Unlike Remy, Ville is just a fan of his national team— not a former player. Nando regularly forgets that Remy played at PyeongChang. Imagine that— playing on a team with an actual Olympian. College is  _ wild _ .

“I said,” Ben says, still calling out so Ville can hear, “you know what they say about those Europeans…”

Ville skates over to them, and stops by Parker to reply, “That we’re better than the rest of you? They do say that.”

Nando snorts, as he tugs at the laces on his left skate. “Yeah, okay, V,” he says. “Don’t you ride a dog sled around town?”

Ville rolls his eyes, but grins. “I’ve told you guys. I live in a city. The dog sled people are my cousins from the north.”

“ _ Right _ ,” Ben replies, nodding sagely. “And you’re actually secretly a Russian spy.”

“Sure, yeah.” Ville shrugs. “If that helps you sleep at night.”

“It actually doesn’t. But thanks for asking.”

Ville looks to Parker, who has just been watching and laughing. “Why were you guys talking about Europe?”

“Because my roommate is a fascinating person,” Remy mutters.

Ben lets off a dreamy sigh, and leans on Remy. “A fascinatingly sexy person.”

Remy smacks him in the leg. “I hate you.”

Ben blows a kiss, and then goes back to his skates. Nando snorts again, and focuses on his own. He’s the kind of person who can take twenty minutes to get undressed after a game, because conversation tends to distract him. Ben keeps chirping Ville about Europe for a minute, but Nando zeroes in on getting ready, and when he’s done, he jumps up from the snowbank with a half-frozen ass. “That was cold,” he remarks, trying to dust the snow off himself.

“You’re a fucking weakling,” Ben taunts, then raises his voice like he wants the other guys’ attention. “Hey, while we’re roasting people’s homelands, can we talk about how this Southwestern fuck has never played shinny before?”

“You’ll like it, Dez,” Teegs tells him, in true Southwest-Southeast solidarity. “My first time was here, too.”

“At least Teegs understands me,” Nando mumbles, and then shuffles forward through the snow until he can step out onto the actual pond. There’s really nothing like that moment when you first get on the ice, no matter what ‘the ice’ means. It’s one of Nando’s favorite feelings. He takes a really long breath, to let the cold air fill his lungs. When he exhales, he can see his breath.

Yeah. This is a winter wonderland, alright.

Jordy and Sam are still racing, and yelling at each other, too, but they’re too far away to hear clearly. They loop around the far end of the pond, and Nando laughs as he watches— Jordy looks like he’s trying to trip Sam. There’s still conversation going on behind him, at the skate-tying snowbank— it’s mostly just swapped chirps, in true KMH fashion.

Because there’s nothing organized going on yet, Nando takes an inaugural lap around the pond— he avoids Jordy and Sam, because he doesn’t want to get caught in the middle of the chaos, but otherwise, it’s smooth and peaceful skating. The orchard is beautiful, and the sight of all his teammates— his friends— gathered all around, with their mishmash of sweatshirts and winter hats, is just really wholesome. Nando finds himself smiling, just because.

When he finishes his lap, Parker skates over to meet him. “It’s cool, isn’t it?” he says, with a friendly smile. Being friendly, Nando knows, is kind of part of the job of being captain, but he thinks Parker goes the extra mile on purpose. He’s been grateful for it, as a freshman on his team. It makes him feel welcome, and did even from the very start of preseason. “I can’t believe you’ve never skated on a pond before.”

“Ha, yeah!” he replies. “Well, y’know, like… Arizona, and everything.”

“Oh, no, it makes  _ sense _ ,” Parker says. “That’s just crazy to me. It’s like a religion where I live, but then again…” He laughs a little, and takes his hat off to shake his hair out. Parker looks more like a surfer than a hockey player; he’s tan and beach-blond. “Vermont, I guess.”

“I think we come from, like, opposite places,” Nando says. “Have you ever seen a cactus in real life?”

Parker tips his head sideways, like he’s thinking. After he fixes the cursed Bruins hat back on his head, he looks over and asks, “Does a potted one in a garden store count?”

“Aw,  _ naaaah _ ,” Nando laughs. “I mean in the wild!”

“Then… no.” Parker shakes his head, and laughs. “Unless you count in Brazil, but I don’t think that’s what you mean.”

“Wait, you’ve been to Brazil?” Nando grins at him. “That’s so cool!”

Parker brightens, if that’s even possible. “I’m half Brazilian! I have family there.”

“ _ Dude _ , for real?” You really do learn something new every day in college.

“Yeah!” Parker says. “Although I wouldn’t test my Portuguese if I were you. It’s questionable.”

“I don’t speak it,” Nando laughs. “Although apparently it’s similar to Spanish.”

“Park! Dez!” Nando glances over his shoulder, to find Teegs waving them down. “Come back! We’re making teams.”

As they’re skating back over to the huddle, Parker glances to where Jordy and Sam are still trying to square up with each other. “Maybe we should alert the five-year-old children at the other end of the ice…”

Nando snorts. “Do you know what they’re doing?”

Parker gives him a pointed look. “I never know what those two are doing,” he replies, then raises his voice to Captain Volume. “ _ Hey _ , Thing 1 and Thing 2! You wanna play or not?”

“Coming!” Sam yells, like a kid who just got caught being too rambunctious at kindergarten. “We’re coming.”

They gather in something like a huddle, and divide into two teams, one captained by David and the other by Rocco. Nando winds up on David’s team, with a bunch of upperclassmen— Parker, because they come as kind of a package deal, as d-partners, and then Teegs, David, and Ville as their line of forwards. They’re also goalie-less, because Ben goes to the other team. “We can double as goalies,” Parker tells him, and bumps his glove against his. “I believe in us.”

“Okay,” he replies, and accepts the challenge. “Me, too.”

“ _ Gentlemen _ ,” Teegs yells, as they start to line up for a face-off. “Are you ready for shit to go down?”

“Let’s have a nice, clean game, boys,” Parker calls, and Nando laughs into his glove, because he sounds just like a ref. “And be nice to Ben.”

“Aww, you’re too kind, Park,” Ben calls. He’s standing between two discarded hats, because they don’t have more than one net, and they put the net on the side that doesn’t have a goalie. “I knew you loved me.”

Teegs tosses a puck in the air, up and down. He looks across the invisible red line, to Remy, who he’s facing off against, and then turns to survey all the lines before he shouts, “Everyone ready?”

“Ready!” Nando calls back, and joins his teammates’ similar chorus. The cold gives him adrenaline, and he’s honestly really fucking excited to play.

Teegs yells incoherently, and then drops the puck, and they play.

*

They play for a solid hour or so. Nando is an awful goalie, as it turns out, because he has none of Ben’s catching reflexes, but he leaves it all on the ice, throwing himself all over the place for the sake of protecting their net. He isn’t sure if they win, because after a little while, they stop counting goals, but between his and Parker’s defending, he thinks it’s a valiant effort. Plus, Teegs, David, and Ville score on Ben a couple times.

All in all, though, the score doesn’t matter. What matters is the fact that when it’s all said and done, and they’ve migrated to laying in the snow next to the pond in various states of cold and exhaustion, Nando is grinning so hard his face hurts. He stares up into the cloudy sky, and announces, “That was the  _ best _ .”

“See?” Parker is undoing his skates in a different snowbank, and he says this like a mom who knew she was right all along. “Shinny is a blast.”

“It totally is,” he replies.

“Yeah, even though you  _ lost _ ,” Ben taunts, and Nando rolls his eyes.

“Of course you were keeping score,” he mumbles.

Ben flips him off. “I can’t be defeated,” he says. “I’m Thanos.”

“Oof,” Sam chimes in. “Too soon, man.”

“Sorry, Sam,” Ben replies. “I forgot you were a Marvel-ass bitch.”

“What’s wrong with being a Marvel-ass bitch?”

“I didn’t say anything was wrong with it!”

“Yes, you did. I heard the judgement.”

“Well, it’s nothing, except that you’re a  _ nerd ass _ .”

“Tough crowd.”

“I’m kidding. I love you, Sammy. Never change.”

“I know. I won’t.”

Nando tries to memorize exactly what this feels like— the chirping among his friends, the bitter chill in the air, even the fact that he’s soaked and totally exhausted. It’s entirely worth it. Today is a good day.

It’s a good way to end the semester with his teammates, and the fact that the semester is ending is cause enough to be bummed— but Nando won’t rush the school year along. All he has to do is be here and now, and here and now is more than good.

After all, they can play more shinny in the spring.


	13. gaudete

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 13 of 25! To my Catholic friends and followers, happy Gaudete Sunday!!! I capitalized on this interesting liturgical occasion in maybe the most out of the box way possible. And I know I said this just the other day, but this one is actually my favorite thing so far that I've written for this holiday series. This is mostly because anything having to do with Nando’s relationship with his religion is extremely near and dear to my heart, and what you’re about to read is related to that.  
> “Mel, what’s up with your dates?” ICYMI, I shifted the whole Kiersey timeline up a year so that Remy could play in the 2018 Winter Olympics.  
> [PROMPT: Quinn freaks out a little bit about going to church with Nando’s family for the first time.](https://sincerelyreidburke.tumblr.com/post/637422571838636032/day-13-a-very-pinkrose-sunday-i-know)

_ winter break of Quinn’s junior year _

_ december 12th, 2020 _

_ tempe, arizona _

Quinn is having a complete wardrobe emergency.

It’s his own fault, too. He didn’t pack enough clothes for winter break. Or perhaps he packed  _ enough  _ clothes, but they weren’t the  _ right _ clothes. A good half of his wardrobe— mostly all the cold weather things, save a few odds and ends he brought along with him— is in his closet back at the dorm at Kiersey, and the other half is currently scattered across the pullout couch in Sebastián’s basement that’ll be his bed for the next two months.

It’s not that he doesn’t have clothes. It’s that he doesn’t know what to wear. After all, he’s trying to plan an outfit to attend an event he’s never experienced before, in a place he’s never been. He’d ask Sebastián, but Sebastián is at work, doing the dinner shift at his uncle’s restaurant. And to be honest, he’d rather avoid fretting about this to Sebastián entirely— not to  _ hide _ it from him, exactly, but more so he can ensure Sebastián doesn’t realize how much this particular topic is freaking him out.

It’s just— tomorrow is Sunday. And if there’s one thing Quinn knows about his boyfriend and his family, it’s that they never miss church on a Sunday. So being home with Sebastián for winter break leads him to this logical conclusion: he is going to be at church tomorrow, with them. And each of the following Sundays he spends in Arizona.

Quinn does not often get nervous, but tonight, in this basement surrounded by his own clothing, he cannot stop worrying.

Here’s the problem: Quinn doesn’t know what people wear to church. Or, more specifically, Mass. His grandparents— though it pains him to think of them, even for a second, because it brings him back to the awful phone call that took place three weeks ago and landed him a guest on Sebastián’s couch— are religious, and took him to church from time to time, but they were Protestant, and Sebastián’s family is Catholic, and Quinn just doesn’t know if there’s a difference. He’s completely lost, with twelve hours left until he walks into the church— and he’s embarrassed to ask.

He  _ could _ just look it up, but he’s not sure he trusts the Internet to plan him an outfit. He racks his brain, to think of some friend, any friend, who might know something in this category, but comes up short. Back and forth, he paces in front of the pullout on the basement floor, and wills himself to breathe normally. He can keep his composure. He will figure this out.

His wardrobe is everywhere. Pairs of shorts and slacks, button-down shirts, sweatshirts stolen from Sebastián, plenty of socks, a bow tie. Much of it thrifted, some handmade, barely anything bought new. All in gentle, muted colors, just the way he likes it.

Goodness. He sits on the edge of the pullout, and rests his face in his hands. He  _ has _ enough clothing— more than enough. He packed adequately. He just wishes he could find  _ something _ in here that feels presentable, feels like the right thing to walk into Sebastián’s church tomorrow in.

Above him, somewhere else in the house, he feels movement— steady steps across the kitchen. Sebastián’s sisters are at a friend’s house tonight, and with the boy himself at work, it must be his mother up there. Quinn feels a bit antisocial. He’s been down here for at least an hour, going through his clothing. He grumbles into his hand, and smooths the swoop at the front of his hair. His first weekend here, and he isn’t being a good guest. He should be upstairs, with Mrs. Hernandez. She’s been so hospitable to him already. She’s such a lovely lady. He doesn’t want her to hate him, or to think he isn’t grateful for what she’s doing for him, welcoming him into her home.

It’s just that— if he’s being honest with himself— this isn’t only about an outfit. This is much more than that.

Because he  _ wants _ these people to like him. All of them, not just Mrs. Hernandez. Sebastián’s sisters, and his uncles and aunts, and cousins, and grandparents, and hometown friends— all of them. He wants nothing more than to fit in here, to be a fitting piece in the beautiful puzzle that is Sebastián’s life at home. They’ve only been in Arizona for a few days, but everything so far has confirmed what Quinn already knew— that Sebastián loves this place, and that he truly belongs here. Quinn loves it here, too— loves what he knows so far, is excited to learn more and more as he stays here.

He has no doubt in his mind that, through Sebastián’s eyes, he fits into this world. He can see  _ himself _ fitting into this world, too— wants that so desperately he’s having clothing anxiety over it. But Sebastián’s world isn’t made up of only Sebastián. There are other people here, too. People Quinn needs to impress. People Quinn needs to be sure he proves himself worthy to— worthy of fitting in here, worthy of loving this boy they know so well, worthy of being their future in-law.

Which is why he cannot risk showing up to church looking like a fool. It feels risky enough to be showing up to church in the first place, given such obvious information about himself that’s always made him feel out-of-place in a church.

But religion is  _ extremely _ important to Sebastián, and to his family, too. So Quinn will be at church tomorrow. Because if he wants his future family-in-law to accept him, he has to start there.

He’s so distraught that he’s caught off-guard when he feels someone descending the stairs. But the vibrations get closer, and he jerks his head up just in time. Mrs. Hernandez, coming down from the kitchen, takes him so much by surprise that he doesn’t have time to panic; he jumps up from the bed and turns on his ears, snapping straight into a demeanor he hopes and prays doesn’t seem too basketcase-like.

“Hello!” He folds his hands behind his back. “I apologize that I’ve been down here so long.”

Mrs. Hernandez shakes her head. “That’s alright, Quinn,” she says, in a gentle, easy, very motherly voice, and then approaches him. “I was just coming to check on you.”

“Thank you!” He flashes a smile— or forces it through his anxiety, more like. “I’m doing quite alright, I’m glad to report.”

She smiles back, and the moment is terrifying when Quinn clocks that she definitely doesn’t believe him. People, save Sebastián, aren’t usually able to see through him so quickly— maybe it runs in the family. “Are you sure?” she asks, and then— oh,  _ goodness _ , the horror— he realizes she’s looking at his bed, and the wardrobe disaster on it. He tries to sidestep to shield her vision, but it’s far too late for that. “Are you doing some laundry?”

“Um…” There would be no point in lying and saying yes; he doesn’t even know how to use this house’s washing machine yet. He shakes his head, and lets off a small sigh, before he replies, “Not exactly. I was just trying to decide on an outfit.”

“Oh,” she says, and nods, still surveying the mess on the mattress. At least it’s organized chaos. Everything may be spread across the bedding, but it’s all neatly folded and sorted. “An outfit for what?” she asks, after a moment.

“Well…”  _ Goodness _ , he hopes he isn’t blushing. “An outfit to wear to church tomorrow, actually. I thought it’d be best if I just set it out tonight.”

“Church?” Mrs. Hernandez echoes, and when she continues, another wave of mortification washes over him. “You’re… coming to Mass with us?”

Logically, it makes sense that she didn’t realize he was coming; he hasn’t yet said anything to her about it, but he still scrambles to compensate for her surprise. “If you’d rather me stay home, I completely understand,” he says, and his words come out fast— too fast. “I do know I’d be a bit out-of-place there. But since it’s important to Sebastián, I’d planned on it. I’m sorry I hadn’t brought it up beforehand. I do understand if you don’t want me there.”

It’s so much at once, an embarrassing ramble uncharacteristic of himself, that he has to take a deep breath when it’s over. Mrs. Hernandez is smiling at him, just a little, and she shakes her head. “Quinn,” she says, in that same motherly voice. It feels like a warm hug. “Of course we’d love to have you come. I just didn’t know you would want to.”

“Oh— goodness.” He exhales again, and relief washes over him. Despite reassuring her it’d be okay, he knows he  _ would _ be hurt if she barred him from joining them. “Thank you so much. And of course I would want to. I know how significant it is—”

She leans against the edge of the mattress. “Does Sebastián know you’re coming?”

“I… mentioned it to him awhile back,” Quinn replies, “but I suppose I’d better tell him when he gets home from work tonight.”

Mrs. Hernandez smiles. “I think that’ll make him very happy.”

Oh, gosh. Now he’s most certainly blushing. “You do?”

She nods. “Very,” she says, and her smile grows while his face gets warmer. She turns, then, to his wardrobe mess, and folds her arms like it’s a project to tackle. “Now,” she says, “what’s all this fuss about an outfit?”

He shields his eyes, and laughs gently. “I’m completely unsure of what to wear,” he confesses, and hangs his head in shame. “I’ve been fretting about it for an hour.”

Mrs. Hernandez laughs, too, but it’s not the sort of laugh meant to mock him, just a lighthearted thing. “You’ve got plenty right here,” she says, then turns to survey it fully. “Don’t overthink it,” she adds, and if Quinn were actually capable of heeding  _ that _ advice, he’s not sure where he’d dedicate a good portion of his mental energy in overthinking’s absence.

“Any good pair of pants will do,” she adds, then pulls his favorite, most comfortable pair of tan slacks from the pile. “How are these?”

Quinn nods, and tucks his hand under his chin, sitting down next to her on the edge of the pullout. “Those are good.”

“And… you’ve got a tie; that’s good.” She grabs the bowtie— it’s a spring, peachy pink, one of his favorite thrift finds, and he’s surprised when she goes right for it.

He squints, as she sets it on top of the slacks. “I can wear that?”

She gives him a sideways smile. “A tie can never hurt.”

He laughs, and nods. “That’s very true.”

A moment of searching later, and she draws a nice, off-white button down from his shirt pile. “And this?”

He looks at the ensemble she’s selected for a moment, and folds his hands in his lap. He doesn’t want to say what he’s  _ actually _ thinking, which is that it looks like a pretty queer outfit to show up at church as a newcomer in. He doesn’t mind that for himself, but he wonders if other people will. “Er… just one question?”

Mrs. Hernandez nods, as she’s setting the outfit on the pillow. It’s another motherly thing— like she’s picking a school outfit for one of the girls. “Yes?”

“Well—” Quinn hesitates, and tries to say it politely. “You don’t think a pink tie is, um— too much, for church?”

She smooths the white shirt so it’s folded nicely, then looks to him and shakes her head. “No,” she says, without hesitating. “I don’t. In fact…” She smiles a little, and chuckles when she adds, “Tomorrow is Gaudete Sunday. It’s the third Sunday in the Advent season, so they’ll light the pink candle on the Advent wreath in the church. It’s the one day of the year when the priest wears pink robes.”

Quinn knows that Advent is the season leading up to Christmas, but he’s not sure what much else of this means. Except that, apparently, he won’t be the only one in pink tomorrow. “Why pink?”

“It symbolizes rejoicing, because Christmas is soon.” Her smile widens, and her voice turns slightly singsong. “The priests will tell you it’s ‘rose,’ not pink, but that’s like saying it’s ‘violet,’ not purple.”

Quinn laughs. “I didn’t know that,” he replies, and for a moment, it’s a little easier to breathe. Then the twinge of anxiety resurfaces itself, and he clasps his hands together again. He looks away from her, because he isn’t sure he’d like to see her reaction to what he wants to ask next. “May I— ask you one other thing?”

“Of course.”

“Do you, ah—” He smooths his hair again, and breathes in. “Well, I suppose what I meant in asking about the pink was more, um— more about myself than the color pink.”

He lets his words hang in the air for a second. She doesn’t say anything, so he looks to her to finish. “Do you think  _ I’ll _ be out-of-place there?”

Mrs. Hernandez smiles. It’s a warmth that catches him off-guard. When she shakes her head again, she rests a hand gently on his shoulder. “All are welcome, Quinn,” she says. “All you need is an open heart, and it’s clear you have that.”

Quinn feels like he’s about to tear up, and he has positively no idea why.

“Thank you,” he breathes, and then, with a lot more ease, he’s smiling.

“You’re welcome,” she replies, and rubs his shoulder once more, before she drops her hand and gets up from the pullout. “Do you want to join me upstairs?” she asks. “I’m starting on dinner. Sebastián will be home soon.”

Quinn dusts himself off, then looks to his wardrobe disaster once more. With his outfit set aside for tomorrow, he feels infinitely more prepared, infinitely more organized.

It’s going to be daunting, and he’s still nervous. But this has made him feel better.

“I’d love to come up now,” he says. “And thank you. I’ll just be a moment, so I can put all these clothes away.” He waves his hand in the air. “Goodness, I’ve made quite the mess.”

“It isn’t so bad,” Mrs. Hernandez replies. “It’s a lot neater than the way Sebastián keeps his clothes; I’m sure you know that.”

Quinn laughs. “I absolutely do,” he replies. “I’ve tried to beat basic laundry organization skills into that boy, but… jock at heart, I suppose.”

She laughs, too, and nods as she heads back for the stairs. “I think you’re right,” she says. “Come to the kitchen when you’re ready, but no rush, alright?”

“Thank you,” he calls after her, but there are no real words for all his gratitude.

As he’s putting his clothes back in the basement closet, the hotness in his eyes catches him off-guard. He wipes his face with the back of his sleeve, and then, unbeknownst to him until right at that moment, he’s crying— or at least very teary, and out of nowhere, too. He seldom cries, or at least rarely did until the events of the past month with his grandparents befell him— but this isn’t the kind of crying that hurts. It feels more like relief. He lets the tears come, and dries them himself, and when they finish, he’s okay.

He successfully refills the closet, then leaves his church outfit on the bed and heads up the stairs to the kitchen.

*

_ december 13th, 2020 _

In the morning, he wakes up early enough to shine his shoes, get dressed, and process at least a good bit of his anxiety by himself in the basement before he heads upstairs. Church starts at 8:00, and he reaches the kitchen at 7:35, with plenty of time to spare.

The twins aren’t downstairs yet, but Sebastián and Mrs. Hernandez are. Mrs. Hernandez is by the sink, and Sebastián is at the counter on his phone, but grins up at him when he emerges from the basement door. “Good morning,” he sings, and walks toward him. In a maroon button-down that’s exactly his color, he’s so handsome Quinn has to withhold swooning. “Wow, baby,” he adds, and leans down to kiss his cheek. “You look so cute and spiffy!”

Quinn laughs. He wonders if he’s blushing. His tie might bring out a flush in his face, but like Mrs. Hernandez said last night… it’s a pink Sunday. “Why, thank you, Sebastián.”

Over Sebastián’s shoulder, Mrs. Hernandez is smiling at him. She raises the water glass she’s drinking, and winks very deliberately.

Quinn straightens his bow tie, and meets Sebastián’s eyes again. “I wanted to be dressed for the occasion.”

“You’re definitely dressed for the occasion,” Sebastián laughs, and then clasps his hands. “I’m glad you’re coming with us,” he says.

Goodness, Quinn is so in love with the way this boy’s eyes light up when he smiles. “I’m glad for that, too,” he replies, and so, with a well-chosen outfit from Mrs. Hernandez and Sebastián’s enthusiasm, Quinn’s first day of church with the family begins.


	14. whitefield wonderland

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 14 of 25 is a quick one-off about the first time Nando sees snow! Forgive me, for I'm cheating just a little again. This takes place before Thanksgiving. But there are holiday themes discussed, and I feel that snow has an inherently holiday-ish feel to it. So here you go!  
> [PROMPT: In which one Arizona boy sees snow for the first time, and turns into an excited puppy about it.](https://sincerelyreidburke.tumblr.com/post/637509539330129920/day-14-todays-25-days-of-kiersey-installment-is)

_Remy’s freshman year_

_november 16th, 2018_

If there’s one thing Remy loves about a road game, it’s when you get to go home with a huge win.

As a rule, Kiersey students— especially athletes, _especially_ hockey players— are supposed to hate Whitefield students. Or maybe not _hate_ , but at least feel a robust sense of animosity towards. After all, Remy has learned, that’s pretty much the whole point of having a rival school. They had a rival high school, the one on the other side of Quebec City, so Remy isn’t really a stranger to the concept. But that was pretty much just for hockey games.

The Kiersey-Whitefield rivalry is a whole different story. Remy is pretty sure it only feels intense in the hockey department because that’s his own perspective. Everybody at Kiersey knows about the Whitefield rivalry. Everybody at Whitefield knows it, too. The schools are about three hours apart, Kiersey in rural New Hampshire and Whitefield in the Vermont mountains, but they bridge the three hours’ gap frequently for sports games. Like today’s roadie, the last away game before Thanksgiving.

It’s safe to say Remy has, in his three months as a Kiersey student, built up a healthy sense of rival-like animosity against Whitefield. Which is why it feels so good to win the road game, three to zero, in Whitefield’s own house.

There’s no energy left in the rink by the time three periods have elapsed— or at least no energy from Whitefield, or any of their fans. Remy scores the third goal after the first two from Teegs and David, like the final nail in Whitefield’s coffin, and at the final buzzer, he skates directly over to Ben at the net and claps him on the helmet. “What a game, dude,” he says. “You were great.”

Ben laughs and pulls his mask off. “Thanks for the help!” He’s super sweaty, and his cheeks are red, but the smile on his face says it all. His pride is clear, even given that he’s Ben, and he’s completely cocky 100% of the time to begin with. Shutout joy is something else. There’s nothing like a happy goalie, especially when he’s your friend.

“ _Rhooooooo_ !” Nando’s shout comes from behind, and he turns their game-end hug into a three-person huddle. He’s even more gigantic on skates than he is to begin with, and Remy laughs; he could probably barrel them over if Ben weren’t just as strong. “Let’s fucking _gooooo_!”

“Whitefield’s entire roster can suck my actual dick,” Ben replies, then pulls his helmet off entirely. His hair is sweaty, too, but it’s mostly intact in the weird braided bun thing he does for games. “But not actually,” he says. “Because I have standards.”

Remy snorts, and they start for the tunnel together. “You have standards?”

“ _Ouch_ , Rem.” Ben puts his glove to where it says _KIERSEY_ across his chest, like he’s been shot there. “I have at least enough standards not to get it on with a Whitefield player.” He pauses, and then Remy watches as he sweeps his eyes over the losing home team, who are filing out through their own tunnel. Remy can sense the snark coming before it even happens, and when it does, it’s Ben raising his voice and calling, “But number twenty-four _does_ look kinda sexy, though!”

Number twenty-four isn’t ‘sexy’— whatever that means. He’s just an ordinary-looking white guy with greasy hair. He scowls at Ben from a few yards away on the ice, and Ben blows him a kiss.

“ _Crisse_ , Ben,” Remy mumbles, and tries to avoid making eye contact with number twenty-four, who’s now giving the three of them a total death stare. But really, the joke is on him. He just lost, three to nothing, in his own house, to his school’s biggest rival.

While Ben continues making poor chirping decisions, Remy takes one last sweeping look around Whitefield’s rink, and grins a little just before he steps off the ice.

There’s nothing like a good, solid win.

The locker room is full of energy. It’s kind of loud, but not overwhelming; Remy is used to it. Teegs does a lot of yelling and unsolicited singing, and Jordy and Sam have really animated conversations, and plenty of guys talk game, and there are always two people having some kind of totally pointless argument at all times. Today, Ville is arguing with Rocco about using the pool at the hotel. “I didn’t bring a bathing suit,” Ville says.

“Dude, _why_?”

“Because who brings a bathing suit on a roadie?!”

“People who want to have fun, that’s who.”

Remy mostly minds his own business, as he gets undressed and back into his suit. He packs his stuff up from his visitor locker, and he’s ready a little ahead of most other people, so he pulls his bag over his shoulder and waits for someone to walk with. It winds up being both Ben and Nando, as it usually is.

“Let’s get out of here, bitches,” Ben says. He still wears that glowing grin from the ice. “I’m getting so fucking drunk tonight.”

Remy arches an eyebrow. “In a hotel room by yourself?”

“Look— you have fun your way, and I’ll do me.” Ben fixes his tie, and Nando laughs at him, and then they’re off, leaving the locker room and heading for the bus. It’s the same way they walked in, only one thing is distinctly different, when they reach the doors to go outside: it’s snowing.

And kind of hard, too. Ben notices it first, as they’re approaching the door. “ _Yooooo_ ,” he says. “It’s snowing!”

“I didn’t know it was supposed to,” Remy mumbles, but then again, even as he says this he knows he didn’t check the Vermont weather forecast. He hopes it won’t mean they’re stuck up here for longer than the night. It’s coming down hard, in thick flakes, and there are already at least two inches on the ground.

“Wait, it’s—” Right as they reach the door, Nando stops walking for a second. He’s staring right out at the snow, and out of nowhere, he gets this huge, very Nando smile on his face, like he’s an excited, wholesome, innocent child. “It’s snowing?”

“Uh, dude,” Ben replies, and pushes open the door. “That white stuff falling from the sky is in fact snow.”

Remy knows Ben is being a wiseass, but right then, it clicks— this is not just some ordinary (if early) winter weather for Nando. Nando lives in the desert. Which means that for him… this must be a first-time thing. “Wait, Nanny,” Remy says, as they step out into the cold. “Have you never—”

But in his enthusiasm, Nando cuts him off, and confirms his theory. “I’ve never seen snow before!” he cries, and then drops his bag to run out into the snowy parking lot.

“Dude!” Remy laughs. “You really haven’t?”

“No!” Nando whirls around, and it looks like he almost slips— dress shoes on unsalted snowy asphalt will do that, and Remy walks carefully to avoid having the same issue. “Holy _shit_ ,” Nando cries, like he’s still in shock. He holds both hands out, and stares up at the sky to yell at the top of his lungs, “This is a winter wonderland!”

“Oh my God,” Ben whispers, leaning into Remy as they walk. “He’s like a puppy.”

Remy smacks him in the arm. “Be nice. He’s never seen it.”

“Oh, I’ll be nice,” Ben replies, and then digs into his suit jacket pocket for his phone. “After I put this on my story.”

“I can’t believe it!” Nando is still yelling, and skidding around the parking lot. It’s equally funny and wholesome, and Remy digs into his bag for his toque while he watches. “I feel like I’m in a Christmas movie!”

Ben is filming him, and says nothing. Nando bends over and touches the small blanket of white on the pavement, then draws his hand back quickly. “Ooh, it’s _cold_!”

“I mean…” Remy holds back a laugh, and secures his toque on his head. “Yeah? It’s snow?”

“Well, I know, but—” Nando straightens up again, and looks up at the sky. “ _Wow_ ,” he remarks, and Remy understands what he means. It really is pretty, and it’s coming down even faster, Remy thinks, than when they walked outside a minute ago. It’ll probably look nice in the morning.

Remy bends over, and grabs Nando’s bag before he walks with Ben up to meet him. The bus is parked just off to the side; they’ve come out the back end of Whitefield’s rink. “So what do you think?” Remy asks, as he hands his bag back to him. “Of the snow.”

“I think we should build a snowman,” Nando replies. There are flakes all stuck in his hair, and a small coating is forming on his shoulders, too. He holds his hand out, like he’s trying to catch some, but seems to quickly realize it’s melting on his palm. “Or make hot chocolate. _Ugh_. I wish I had the stuff! We could do it at the hotel.”

“We could watch a Christmas movie,” Remy suggests. “On Netflix or something—”

“No, _fuck off_ ,” Ben interrupts, and now it’s _his_ turn to smack _Remy_. “It’s not Christmas until after Thanksgiving.”

Remy hangs his head, and watches his shiny shoes as they make small imprints in the snow. “Thanksgiving was in October.”

“Fuck you and your misplaced holidays.”

Nando nudges him, on the other side, and Remy looks up in time for him to say, “ _I_ think we should watch a Christmas movie.”

Remy grins, and looks to Ben. “You’re outvoted.”

“ _Fuck_ you guys.” Ben tosses his bag into the open luggage compartment of the bus. “Okay, but what movie?”

“What do you mean, ‘what movie’?” Remy chirps. He does the same with his own bag, and then steps back before he adds, “I thought you were getting drunk tonight.”

“I can get drunk and also watch a movie,” Ben replies, tapping his own temple. “I’m a multitasker.”

“Oh, my _gosh_ ,” Nando says, and Remy turns to find him still marveling at the snow. “This is _so cool_.”

“It’s nice, right?” he says to him. “You might get tired of it in February.”

Nando’s smile is all exhilarated, like right after you score a goal. He’s looking up at the sky again. “I could never get tired of this.”

“ _Pfff_.” Ben elbows Remy, and gives him a knowing grin. “Southerners, am I right?”

Remy rolls his eyes, and follows Ben to the foot of the stairs to get on the bus. He thinks Nando is behind them, until he turns and finds him trailing, walking slowly as he keeps looking around. He’s completely covered in snow, and grinning from ear to ear.

Remy raises an eyebrow, and waits at the top of the steps. “You coming, Nan?”

“Yeah— yeah, I’m coming. Sorry.” Nando rushes the rest of the way onto the bus, and laughs as he seems to realize how snowy he got in that brief time outside. He dusts himself off, and shakes it out. “That was just— _wow_.”

“Welcome to the north, dude,” Remy tells him.

“I _like_ this,” Nando declares.

“The Grinch,” Ben announces, from where he’s already found a seat at the back of the bus. It’s warm in here already; the driver must have been sitting here awhile. They’re among the first ones to get on it. Remy is looking forward to a night in at the hotel. He’ll probably sleep the whole ride back to Kiersey tomorrow. “We’re watching the Grinch,” Ben says, as he and Nando meet him in the back.

“Cartoon or live-action?” Remy asks.

Ben shrugs. “Dealer’s choice.”

Remy sinks into the seat next to Ben, and Nando gets the window seat in front of them. “I choose cartoon.”

Ben high-fives him. “Good with me.”

The whole ride to the hotel, Nando’s face is glued to the window. He really is kind of like a puppy, but in a fun way.

All things considered, Remy thinks it’s a good night not to have to be anywhere but in a hotel with his friends.


	15. merry beechmas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 15 of 25 comes off a prompt, but it's actually a bunch of concepts all rolled up into one. Snowball fight? Check. Gingerbread house? Check. Kiersey Men's Hockey Christmas party? Check. New characters? We've got it all! Dive in with me to "Beech-mas," the annual KMH holiday extravaganza, for Nando and company's senior year.  
> [PROMPT: I wanna see a snowball fight.](https://sincerelyreidburke.tumblr.com/post/637603103875776513/i-wanna-see-a-snowball-fight)

_ Nando’s senior year _

_ december 2021 _

_ Group: Kiersey Men’s Hockey _

_ 12/10/21, 1:14 PM _

_ Sebastián Hernandez: hey guys! small but festive announcement _

_ Chris Yang: Is this about beechmas _

_ Xander Williams: CHRIS!!! spoilers!! _

_ Chris Yang: Oops sorry _

_ Chris Yang: I just love beechmas _

_ Sebastián Hernandez: ahahaha yes it is about beechmas _

_ Chris Yang: 🎊🎄🎊🎄 _

_ Miles Kekoa: BEECHMAS! _

_ Gabe Pacquiao: Beechmas gang rise _

_ Sebastián Hernandez: and it’s tomorrow _

_ Chris Yang: FUCK YEAH _

_ Ben Shaley: im ready _

_ Xander Williams: me too! _

_ Sebastián Hernandez: we’ll gather at beech around 3 for anyone who wants to partake! _

_ Carlos Alcazar: i have a question _

_ Levi Cohen: So do I _

_ Isaiah Rodriguez: same _

_ Wren Doucette: ^ _

_ Miles Kekoa: freshman alert _

_ Chris Yang: 🚨🚨🚨🚨 _

_ Ben Shaley: looool poor confused souls _

_ Sebastián Hernandez: sorry guys! i got ahead of myself _

_ Sebastián Hernandez: beechmas is our annual team holiday party _

_ Sebastián Hernandez: it starts as just a team thing, but usually becomes a real party later in the night _

_ Sebastián Hernandez: this year, we’re having a gingerbread house competition _

_ Sebastián Hernandez: i’ll supply the gingerbread, ben and remy already got the candy _

_ Chris Yang: DUUUUUUDE _

_ Chris Yang: GINGERBREAD HOUSES????? _

_ Isaiah Rodriguez: candy? _

_ Isaiah Rodriguez: i’m down _

_ Carlos Alcazar: a Christmas party! _

_ Sebastián Hernandez: technically, a holiday party _

_ Sebastián Hernandez: insert obligatory apology to levi and zain _

_ Zain Dahir: its whatever i love alcohol _

_ Levi Cohen: It sounds fun! _

_ Carlos Alcazar: wait, where did the alcohol come from? _

_ Ben Shaley: carlos _

_ Ben Shaley: it’s going to be an actual party _

_ Ben Shaley: not a small intimate get together _

_ Sebastián Hernandez: the gingerbread part is a small intimate get together… _

_ Chris Yang: Who’s judging the contest? _

_ Ben Shaley: quinn _

_ Chris Yang: WHAT THATS NOT FAIR _

_ Chris Yang: He’s biased! _

_ Sebastián Hernandez: i’m not on a team, so he won’t be _

_ Ben Shaley: he wouldn’t let you win even if you were _

_ Sebastián Hernandez: ahahaha youre right _

_ Sebastián Hernandez: but also, he’s a blind judge so it wouldn’t matter _

_ Ben Shaley: um actually he’s a deaf judge _

_ Ben Shaley: that wasn’t very pc of you nando _

_ Xander Williams: BEN! _

_ Sebastián Hernandez: 😂😂😂 i meant he won’t know who built what house! _

_ Zain Dahir: i hate you all _

_ Ben Shaley: awwww you love us z _

_ Zain Dahir: 🖕🏽 _

_ Ben Shaley loved a message _

_ Carlos Alcazar: wait so 3:00 tomorrow? _

_ Xander Williams: yes _

_ Sebastián Hernandez: yes! _

_ Carlos Alcazar: cool! i’ll be there _

_ Levi Cohen: So will I _

_ Isaiah Rodriguez: i will also make an appearance _

_ Ben Shaley: look at that _

_ Ben Shaley: such dutiful freshmen _

_ Carlos Alcazar: @ wren you’re coming too _

_ Wren Doucette: See you there _

_ Ben Shaley: NICE _

_ Ben Shaley: four for four _

_ Xander Williams: no pressure underclassmen, but you have to go _

_ Ben Shaley: facts _

_ Ben Shaley: beechmas is a rich kiersey hockey tradition _

_ Sebastián Hernandez: ben is right! _

_ Sebastián Hernandez: it’ll be a lot of fun _

_ Ben Shaley: so get your asses there _

_ Xander Williams: or else :D _

_ Carlos Alcazar: i’m scared _

_ Carlos Alcazar: like, I was fully planning on going, but I’m scared _

_ Ben Shaley: you should be _

*

Beech Street is a winter wonderland.

Nando is  _ extremely _ pleased with his and his housemates’ hard work. All Saturday morning, he works in the kitchen, getting stuff ready for the infamous gingerbread contest, and watching the place come together around him. Ben and Chris go around hanging lights and decorations, and Zain is going over his essential party planning checklist (in other words, music and alcohol). Remy helps out in the kitchen with food stuff, and X runs random errands, including picking up lunch at McDonald’s. Chicken nuggets and fries are probably not on the team diet plan, but they’re extremely delicious, so Nando does not care. Also, fast food is probably not the worst thing he’s going to be eating today. He and Quinn did their annual Christmas cookie date the other night, and he plans to make a dent in that supply at Beechmas. Not to mention the gingerbread house candy.

Look… it’s the holidays, okay?

By mid-afternoon, everything is ready— and just in time, because no sooner does Nando feel like he has his shit together with party planning than is there a knock on the door.

“ _ Crisse _ ,” Remy says, from his spot at the counter. He’s been staking out for the past little while with a book, since they finished getting ready for the gingerbread debacle. “Is it three o’clock already?”

Ben flies across the kitchen from the stairs, to ruffle Remy’s hair. “Time flies when you’re having fun, Rem.”

“Oh, my God.” Nando laughs, as he takes in the sight of Ben. His getup is pretty standard Ben party material, except for his top— a black ugly Christmas sweater that replaces snowflakes with marijuana leaves. He’s also wearing a Christmas bow on his head. “Dude.”

“Fuck you,” Ben says, before he can say anything else, and flips him off. “It’s called fashion. Look it up.”

Nando looks down at himself. His own ‘fashion,’ if you could call it that, is just a sweatshirt and some joggers, but he  _ does _ have a Santa hat on. Remy has an ugly sweater, too; it’s Canada-themed. With a moose and everything.

X and Chris congregate in the kitchen, too, and both start roasting Ben’s weed sweater. Nando is ready to participate in the chirping, but then there’s another knock on the door, and he laughs. “Wait, okay— let them in.”

Ben calls over his shoulder, instead of going to the door. “Come in, frosh!”

Remy slides a bookmark into whatever he’s reading— it looks like a leisure read, not a class textbook— and raises an eyebrow as he turns in his seat. “They know they don’t have to knock, right?”

The door opens, and the knockers turn out to be sophomores, not freshmen. “First of all,” says Miles, who’s leading the pack, “I’m not a freshman, so I’m offended.”

“You’re a freshman in my heart, MK,” X tells him.

From the living room, Chris’ disembodied voice adds, “They grow up so fast!”

“And second,” MK continues, ignoring both the chirping juniors, “it’s snowing.” He dusts off his shoulder, like he’s trying to show it, but Nando can’t actually see any snow on him. Then again, he’s all the way across the room.

“It’s  _ barely _ snowing,” Gabe amends, coming in from behind MK. “He’s being dramatic.”

“That’s no surprise,” Ben remarks, and MK rolls his eyes, which is kind of like the nail in his chirping coffin, because everybody immediately jumps on his ass and starts roasting him for being from California. Nando laughs from a distance, and empties a bag of gumdrops into a plastic bowl.

The freshmen aren’t far behind the sophomores— and when they’ve all actually arrived, the kitchen is alive, well, and full of robust debate about whether or not flurries count as snow. Nando waits for the right moment to get their attention, and it comes when three separate people are yelling at MK for being from California (again). “Okay, guys,” he calls, over the ruckus, and laughs as their gradual attention falls on him. “Thanks for coming!”

Ben scoffs, leaning on the counter. “As if we wouldn’t come.”

“Rho, shut up,” he laughs. “You literally live here.” Remy laughs into his hand, and there’s a small chorus of  _ oh, shit _ and other amused exclamation from the underclassmen. Nando addresses them all again. “So as promised, I have stuff to make gingerbread houses.” He gestures across the counter, and then folds his arms, grinning a little. “I thought we could, uh, divide into teams. For anyone who wants to, that is. Zain has music, and I’m making hot chocolate.”

Carlos, eager freshman that he is, looks almost ready to combust at this last detail. “Hot chocolate?”

Nando grins a little wider. “I don’t think a Beechmas is complete without hot chocolate.”

Chris makes some strange, slightly seductive noise. “You’re the best captain to grace this team, Nan.”

Nando flashes a thumbs-up. “Thanks, Y, but hot chocolate is pretty much part of my job description.”

“Still,” Chris replies, and right next to him, X nods like he agrees. Nando laughs all over again. Being the leader of all his teammates is a lot to handle, especially when they’re all yelling at each other in the Beech Street kitchen— but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t love every second of it. He isn’t going to think about how he’s almost passed an entire semester as captain already. And how he only has one semester left here.

Instead, he’s going to think about Beechmas.

“So… who wants to captain a gingerbread team?” he asks, and with that, the festivities kick off.

*

It’s an extremely heated gingerbread contest.

Nando gets so much joy out of playing host, darting from team to team at the kitchen counter like they’re on the Food Network. Ben captains one team, and Remy the other, and they each corral a small array of determined underclassmen, and it is  _ on  _ like Donkey Kong. Zain finds a good holiday playlist for the bluetooth speaker, and the lights hung all around the house look awesome. Ben starts drinking at four o’clock, and a couple other guys jump on that bandwagon. Nando sticks to the hot chocolate— he even winds up having to make a second batch.

Around five, there’s a knock at the door. Nando goes and answers this one himself, because he knows who it is. Quinn is in a red scarf and a cream-colored sweater, and he’s completely too cute to handle, standing on the front porch of the house. “Hello, Sebastián.”

“Hey, baby.” He welcomes him in with a kiss, safely out of sight of everybody in the kitchen (for chirp-evading purposes), and then raises his eyebrows as he looks beyond him to the street. MK and Gabe were right earlier— it  _ is _ snowing, and by the looks of the inch or two of new powder on top of what was already there, it has been for awhile. “Wow, it’s coming down, huh?”

“It certainly is. It’s quite pretty out there.” Quinn smiles over his shoulder at the snow, just before he shuts the door behind himself. He pauses, as he hangs his winter jacket by the door, and meets Nando’s eyes with a bemused smile as he seems to start hearing what’s going on in the kitchen. “They sound like they’re having fun in there.”

“They are,” Nando assures him, with a laugh. He rests a hand on his back as they start that way, and leans in to tell him, “I saved you some  _ champurrado _ .”

“Oh, honey.” Quinn smiles, and swoons a little. “Have I mentioned today that I love you?”

Nando kisses his cheek. “I love you, too,” he replies— and right then, they reach the kitchen, and the chirping mob descends on them.

“ _ Ew _ !” cries X. “Guys, look; they’re swapping cooties!”

“That’s a fine,” Remy remarks, unceremoniously.

“I am  _ not _ paying a fine for that,” Nando tells him.

“That’s exactly what a simp would say,” Ben says, and then waves to Quinn. “Hey, Mini.”

Quinn nods his head to the whole group of them; it’s kind of his standard greeting. “Good afternoon, gentlemen.”

From the rest of the team, there’s a steady chorus of  _ hiiii, Quinnnnn _ in response. “Are you ready to judge our gingerbread houses?” Carlos asks him.

“I’m very ready to do that,” Quinn replies, with a businesslike nod, and approaches the counter looking extremely intrigued. He looks up to Nando, then surveys the rest of the boys. “These are your own handiwork?” he asks, like he’s in disbelief. “From this afternoon?”

“Well,  _ yeah _ , Quinnifer,” Ben replies. “What, do you think we bought them from the store?”

“They look good!” Quinn exclaims, and as Nando looks over his teammates’ work, he knows Quinn is right. Both houses are fun, decked out with candy in different, creative ways, and he’s honestly a little surprised they pulled it off. He guesses the gingerbread was a good idea.

“Wait, Quinn…” From one of the stools on the counter, MK is studying Quinn, with a raised eyebrow. “You look kinda, like… snowy? Is it snowing?”

“Oh!” Quinn dusts off his own hair, and Nando physically cannot handle how cute he is. “It is snowing quite a bit out there, yes—”

Before he can really finish, MK borderline launches himself off his chair to yell at Gabe. “I fucking  _ told _ you!” he cries. “I knew it’d snow!”

“Wait, Q,” Ben says. “Is it snowing hard?”

Quinn nods again. “There’s quite a bit on the ground already,” he says, and then goes back to gingerbread studying. Nando studies with him, even though he spent the past two hours pretending to be the host of the Great KMH Gingerbread Showdown, so he knows these creations inside and out.

“Fuck it,” Ben says, suddenly. “I’m going outside.” Nando looks up at him to arch an eyebrow, but all Ben does is raise his voice and ask, “Who’s going outside with me?”

Remy snorts a little. “To play in the snow?”

“ _ Fuck _ you, Rem, and yes, that’s exactly what I’m doing.” Ben looks around like he wants others to join his cause, and it only takes a second— apparently, the rest of them like this idea.

“I’ll go outside,” Gabe says, with a shrug. “Can we build an igloo?”

“You’re so Canadian, Gabe. Jesus.”

“ _ Fuck you _ , MK.”

“Wait, I want to go outside!”

“Yeah, me, too!”

Nando can hardly believe he’s listening to a conversation between college-aged young men, and not fifth graders. But also, he wants to go outside, too. Because what are you going to do,  _ not _ join your friends in building an igloo in the front yard?

“Okay,” he says, and tries to employ his captain voice. “Beechmas is moving outside, because Gabe wants to build an igloo.”

“ _ Yes _ !” Gabe pumps his fist, and the kitchen gets rowdy again, and then, before Nando can even keep track of them all, the players of Kiersey Men’s Hockey are occupying the Beech Street front lawn.

It’s amazing and fantastic.

Because he has to get his jacket from upstairs, Nando is one of the last ones out. He beckons for Quinn, the sole straggler in the kitchen, who has located his cup of hot chocolate. “C’mon, baby,” he says. “It’s a winter wonderland out there.”

Quinn smiles. He takes Nando’s outstretched hand, and keeps his mug in the other. “I’m bringing this with me,” he announces.

“Good idea.” Nando squeezes his hand three times. “It’ll keep you warm.”

Quinn returns the three squeezes. It’s code. Three taps, three squeezes, three kisses— it’s their nonverbal  _ I love you _ .

Nando is in love with  _ life _ right now, actually. This boy very much included.

The front yard is a war zone. Almost literally. The gingerbread teams have re-assembled, except now, they’re engaged in an all-out snowball fight. Nando laughs, as he walks out onto the porch with Quinn, and zips his coat up. “Hey, wait for me!” he calls, because he is, at heart, every bit as inclined to stupid, college fun as his teammates are. Even as a senior. Even as their leader.

“Be careful,” Quinn calls, from the porch. With his mug and his scarf, he looks like a mom supervising her snowball-fighting children.

“You’re joining in on this, Quinny,” Ben yells, from behind a snowbank, where he’s taking shelter from a rapid attack led by Remy and X. “Mark my words.”

“We’ll see about that,” Quinn says, with a laugh. Nando kneels at Ben’s snowbank and makes a small snowball, then throws it Quinn’s way; he yelps as he dodges it. “ _ Sebastián _ !”

They stay out in the snow until non-hockey people start showing up, and the real, actual, proper college party begins.

Much, much later, when he’s cleaning up the kitchen, with Ben, Remy, and Quinn as his only waking company, Ben lifts an empty beer can like he’s making a toast. “Merry Beechmas, beautiful people.”

Nando laughs. He toasts Ben’s empty can with an empty Solo cup. “Thanks for helping me,” he tells him, and looks to Remy and Quinn in turn to add, “I mean all of you. Thank you.”

“It was great, Nanny,” Remy says.

“Quite a successful feat,” Quinn affirms, and kisses his cheek on his tiptoes.

Beechmas  _ is  _ a feat— and Nando has just conquered it. Himself. As captain. As a senior. He smiles at his friends, in the empty, post-party kitchen, and doesn’t think this could have gone any better.

_ God _ , he hopes spring semester takes its time.


	16. ezra & the gang

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Day 16 of 25, I'm going a little peripheral on you all! A few days ago, [I put out this post on my tumblr](https://sincerelyreidburke.tumblr.com/post/637060857864634368/i-have-a-lot-of-quindo-bencole-and-remy-stuff), which is a call for holiday prompts relating to lesser-seen Kiersey characters. My dear friend Toby delivered on that request, and asked me to write about Ezra— the Kiersey drama club's lighting tech— and their friends at home in Washington State. You'll see Ezra around in a drama club fic here and there, but this is certainly the first time I've given them quite this much of the spotlight. All this is to say that this is a new experience for both me, the writer, and you, the reader! I do love a good dive into the world of a background character.  
> Anyway. Ezra has some great friends at home in Washington. And a maybe-girlfriend. They're a slight gay disaster. That's okay.  
> [PROMPT: Ezra and the Gang doing some west coast wintertime shit, please and thank you](https://sincerelyreidburke.tumblr.com/post/637681327028715520/ezra-and-the-gang-doing-some-west-coast-wintertime)

_ Ezra’s sophomore year _

_ december 2018 _

There are a lot of things about coming home from college that Ezra doesn’t look forward to.

It’s kind of why they chose to go to a college all the way across the country in the first place. What better way to get away from your family than hiding in New Hampshire when they’re all the way in Washington? It was foolproof. On top of the appeal Ezra saw in Kiersey’s programs, Kiersey was the perfect escape. Their parents were satisfied, because it’s a ‘good school,’ and they got a scholarship to sweeten the pot. Shipping them off to New Hampshire was no big deal.

So coming home for winter break is not exactly ideal. Ezra really likes their college friends, and definitely likes all the freedom and independence that comes with being away at school. It’s their second year at Kiersey, and they’ve more than settled in. They aren’t looking forward to a month with their family, especially a month that contains the holiday season. Or— let’s be real— the Christmas season. It’s not that Ezra completely hates Christmas; it’s just that they feel like everything about December orbits around this one holiday that not everybody actually celebrates. Their family does Christmas, but Ezra has always at best been neutral to the idea. Winter is fun, and Spokane is beautiful this time of year. It’s just that everything is so Christmas-centric and commercialized, and it adds to their disenchantment about winter break.

So it’s hard. And as they return home for their second winter break of college, they aren’t looking forward to a whole lot. But if there’s one thing— one good thing, about coming home from college. Without a doubt, it’s Ezra’s friends.

They met in high school, but not  _ at _ high school— they went to different schools, but met through the queer community center in town, all coming there for similar family-related reasons. The group is five in total, counting Ezra themselves: them, Addy, June, Devin, and Lake. They’re all extremely different people, with different stories and lives, but Ezra loves them more than a lot of things. They love their friends like family— their friends  _ feel _ more like family, than the people they actually live with.

Once they’re home for break, it takes them all of one day to make a plan to see them. Ezra’s parents know they have friends, and they’re lucky that they’ve never cared enough to ask about said friends. Given that their favorite way to explain Ezra’s queerness is  _ our son is just going through a phase _ , Ezra is pretty sure their parents wouldn’t be huge fans of the people they choose to spend time with.

It doesn’t matter, though. Because as soon as they can, Ezra is going to move out, and everything is going to be fine.

On the first Saturday of winter break, Ezra leaves the house, leaves behind the chaos of their multiple siblings and their loud parents and what feels like constant judgement of their every move, and takes an Uber across town to their friends’ apartment. They’re no more than two steps through the door before they’re ambushed. “ _ Ez _ !”

Addy dashes to the door from out of nowhere, and gives them a hug. Ezra might be a little biased, but they’re pretty sure Addy gives the best hugs in the world. She’s a little taller than they are, and her embrace is warm. “Hey,” they say, smiling against her chest, and for just a second they’re not able to worry about anything, because  _ finally _ , they’re home. Where they belong.

“I missed you so much,” Addy says, in a small voice, right next to their ear. Ezra holds on tight. They missed Addy more than they have actual words for.

“Missed you, too,” they mumble, and Addy presses her face to their cheek, and maybe that’s enough.

Greetings— and hugs— from June, Devin, and Lake follow, but Ezra lingers on that hug from Addy. They’d never say it out loud, or at least haven’t yet, but there’s always been something different about Addy. About the way Ezra  _ feels _ about Addy.

They can’t tell her, of course. Dating within a friend group is the number one way to ruin a friend group, and if Ezra loses these people, they have literally nobody aside from a handful of cool people at college all the way across the country. College friends are great, but they aren’t like their home friends, aren’t like family. If Ezra lost  _ these _ friends, they’d have nowhere to go. It would be like losing a part of themselves.

So they keep all their feelings inside. And they’re fine that way. It’s not like you can just tell your best friend you’re in love with her. It’s number one on the list of worst ideas.

“C’mon,” Addy says, and pulls them by the hand through the small apartment. Addy lives here with Devin and Lake year-round, while Ezra is at Kiersey and June is at art school in California. When they and June graduate, they all want to get a bigger place, a better place— and who knows what’ll come  _ next _ , really, but five people together is better than five lonely, broke people on their own. “We decorated,” Addy tells them. “I want to show you.”

Ezra arches an eyebrow. “You decorated, like… for Christmas?”

“We don’t have a Christmas tree, actually,” Devin says, from the living room couch. It’s a small, cozy space; Ezra loves just hanging out here. “But we have other things.”

Ezra focuses on the decorations, rather than the fact that Addy is still holding their hand. There’s a silver garland thing strung along the ceiling, and a plastic light-up candle in every window, plus a bunch of  _ real _ candles in various shapes and sizes on the coffee table. “I bought the wreath,” Lake remarks, which Ezra guesses is in reference to the fir wreath at the top of the far wall. It has a silver bow on it, like it’s supposed to match the garland.

“Wow, I’m impressed,” Ezra remarks, as they look between their friends. “You guys actually made something look nice.”

“ _ Ouch _ , Ez.” Addy puts her free hand to her chest, as in the one Ezra isn’t holding. Because they’re still doing that, apparently. It’s not like it’s new. They hold hands all the time. They’re best friends. Ezra needs to chill out— it’s just that when you haven’t seen someone since August, and then you’re remembering what it feels like to hold their hand— it’s a lot. “You’re a tough critic,” she says, completely carefree and chill and beautiful, just like she always is. “I worked hard on that garland.”

They glance at Addy to grin. “What, you made it?”

Addy rolls her eyes. “No,” she says, and then flops down onto the couch next to Devin, which means Ezra also gets taken down with her. “I bought it at Party City. But  _ still _ .”

Ezra pats her shoulder. “I support you.”

She kisses their cheek, as if they could possibly hold any more gay panic in their body. “Thanks.”

“If it makes you feel any better,” June says, from her cross-legged spot on the floor with Lake, “I was also impressed by the decor.” She looks around the space and waves her fingers around vaguely. “Did you see the mistletoe?”

“There’s mistletoe?” Ezra laughs when June points it out to them, in the entryway between the kitchen and the living room. They look to Devin and raise an eyebrow again. “Who’s kissing in here?”

“Me and Lakey, obviously,” Devin remarks, without missing a beat, which makes Ezra laugh again. Given that Devin is gay and Lake is very much aromantic, Ezra is pretty sure there’s no actual kissing going on. The mistletoe is kind of funny hanging there anyway. It’s sparkly, in gold and silver.

“It’s very… hygge,” June remarks, of the whole decor scheme. “Don’t you think?”

Devin lets out a loud snort, and raises his eyebrows. “I feel like this is  _ not _ hygge, but thanks for the kindness.”

“ _ I  _ think it’s hygge,” Addy says. She smiles up at the garland for a second, and Ezra watches her, like the true idiot they are. When she looks back down to them, she says, “You should see my room. It’s even more sparkly.”

“Okay,  _ ew _ ,” Lake cuts in, and Ezra glances at them to furrow their brows. Ezra isn’t sure what exactly warranted an  _ ew _ about that statement, but Lake has moved on before Ezra can actually ask. Lake is still looking right at them, and they ask, “So did you bring skates?”

“Skates?” Ezra echoes, and looks to Addy on one side and Devin on the other in their mild terror. “You guys know I don’t own skates.”

“I told you,” June mutters, from the floor.

“It’s okay,” Addy assures them. “You can rent them!”

“Wait…” Ezra squints, and looks from friend to friend, but finds only enthusiasm and maybe mild conniving among their expressions. “Where are we going?”

“To the ice ribbon!” Addy cries, and finally lets go of their hand— which is actually less of a relief than Ezra had hoped it would be, because immediately, they just want to go back to holding hers. Instead, they try to focus on what she’s actually  _ saying _ , which is a lot more concerning. “I finally convinced them.”

“The ice ribbon,” Ezra echoes, and tries not to sound too terrified. They know what the ice ribbon is— it’s this skating complex downtown, where you can skate down a path— there’s just, like, one small problem with this plan.

“It’ll be fun,” Addy assures them, and, well— okay.

Ezra can’t actually skate.

*

They have to admit— it turns out to be fun.

Like, sure, they can’t skate. Their friends  _ know _ that, and none of them are exactly elite Olympic skaters themselves— so they’re all in a similar boat. But that’s the fun of it. They go downtown, and skate around in the park, and Ezra only falls on their ass three or four times, because most of the  _ rest _ of the time, they’re holding onto Addy.

Look. It’s fine. They and Addy have  _ always _ been tactile, because Addy is a kind, loving, wholesome person, who is tactile with  _ all _ of her friends. And it’s not like best friends can’t support best friends who are failing miserably at skating. “I feel like you’re getting tired of me hanging on you,” they tell Addy, after a particularly hilarious yet painful fall, and Addy laughs.

“I could never get tired of that,” she replies, and grabs their hand again, and they wonder what they ever did to deserve this.

Ezra had a good fall semester at school, but they’d be lying if they said they didn’t miss this every day. There’s only so much that FaceTime and texting can make up for. Of all their friends, they talk to Addy the most— it’s why they’re best friends. It’s why nobody could ever take her place.

Ezra really, really needs to chill.

It’s a good day. Really, it is. Start to finish. Ezra is never going to be a good ice skater, but spending time with their friends makes up for all the falling. They don’t think about going home. Right now, this  _ is _ home.

“I think we should watch  _ Frozen _ when we get home,” Addy says, as they’re all untying their skates— some rented, some their own. “It’s the perfect winter movie that isn’t actually a holiday movie.”

“ _ Frozen _ is gay,” Lake remarks, unceremoniously.

“Shut up, Lake,” June cuts in. “Elsa is the lesbian representation I deserve.”

Ezra is more or less indifferent to  _ Frozen _ , but anything, honestly, to put off going home for as long as possible. Addy looks to them, and puts her hand on their knee to ask, “Do you have to leave early?”

Ezra shakes their head. Whatever might come when they get home, it can wait. This day is too good to end this soon. “No,” they say, and Addy’s smile is worth the world.

They continue their downtown adventure to pick up snacks, and also for Devin to buy a random beanie he sees in a window that he insists is going to be a perfect addition to his ‘aesthetic brand,’ whatever that means. When they make their way back to the apartment, Ezra is cold, but not in the way where you feel completely miserable. It’s a good, robust kind of cold. They hang their jacket by the door with their friends’, and leave their shoes in the pile beneath the coat rack, and can’t help but think that one day, life will just be like this. Sure, they’ll have a job and all that, but living with their friends— it’s something to look forward to, even on the weirdest, hardest days.

“I’m making tea!” June calls, and makes her way into the kitchen. Devin runs after her, and nearly trips over his own feet in the process.

“Don’t touch my secret stash!” he yells. “That’s my stress relief tea.”

“I wouldn’t have known you had a secret stash if you didn’t say that,” she replies. Devin makes some strange, exasperated noise, and Ezra laughs into their hand as they watch them go.

“I’ll find a place to rent the movie,” Addy says, cheerily, and sits down right in front of the TV with the remote. Ezra lingers, leaning against the doorframe that connects the two rooms, and looks from side to side.

June is sitting on the kitchen counter, rifling through a box of tea, and Devin is arguing with her about flavors. Lake is on their phone on the couch, and Addy is on a serious mission with the TV. The electric candles in the window are on now, and the real ones on the coffee table are all lit, which creates a nice ambience but an interesting combination of smells. Addy’s garland is sparkling, true to her brand.

For the first time since their flight landed on Thursday, Ezra feels like they’re actually home. They smile, and stand there, and take in the view.

“It’s not the right  _ time _ for earl grey,” Devin is saying to June. “That’s a  _ breakfast _ tea.”

June nearly rolls her eyes into the back of her head. “You can drink any tea at any time, Dev,” she says. “There aren’t  _ rules _ .”

“There are in my tea box!—”

Ezra is so busy laughing at the fight over the tea that they jump when they’re hugged from behind. It’s just Addy, obviously, but they still laugh as they turn to her. “You scared me.”

“Sorry,” Addy says, and then boops them on the nose. “You were just standing here. I couldn’t resist.”

“Couldn’t resists what?” they ask, but then they catch Addy looking up, and— oh.

_ Oh. _

Ezra is a dumbass. They’ve been standing under that sparkly, plastic mistletoe for the past five minutes. And now Addy is here, and— oh, fuck.

“ _ Oooooooh _ ,” Lake says, from the couch, and Addy tells Lake to shut up, and then Ezra has exactly zero seconds to process what the fuck is happening before Addy is kissing them.

It’s maybe three seconds long. Lake’s heckling intensifies. Devin and Jude seem not even to  _ notice _ , because they’re still fighting over tea. “Get a room!” Lake yells, but Ezra barely hears them.

“Sorry,” Addy says, when she’s pulled away, like she didn’t just rock their entire world.

Ezra may be gay and stupid, but they’re pretty sure that best friends don’t kiss best friends under the mistletoe.

“Uh,” they say, when they have at least a slight hold on the English language. “What?”

“I put it up for you!” Addy’s arms are around their waist, and she’s smiling, and she looks so soft and pretty that Ezra has to take several moments, because they can’t even begin to process the fact that  _ she just kissed them _ like it was nothing, and, like— what is going on? “The mistletoe?” Addy continues. “I was waiting for you to get home—”

“I…” Ezra pauses. They’ve done every tactile thing in the book, but this. They FaceTime nightly. They say they love each other, but— “I didn’t know you wanted to kiss me?”

Now Addy pauses. She knits her brows, and leans back just a little, but stays all wrapped up in their warm-if-awkward doorway embrace. “Why wouldn’t I?” she asks.

Ezra is lost. “I don’t know,” they say. Their heart starts beating faster, like it’s missed the past thirty seconds, and is only just now catching up to what the implications of this might be. To all the potential for ruining this friend group that is going down right in front of Ezra’s very eyes. “I didn’t think—”

“Ez,” Addy says, in a quiet voice, still smiling, “have we not been dating this whole time?”

Uh.

_ What? _

“Wait, we  _ have _ ?” they ask, and then the bubble bursts, and Lake starts laughing so hard they nearly fall off the couch.

“Sounds like you guys have a lot to talk about,” Lake says.

“Shut up, Lake,” Addy laughs, and then meets Ezra’s eyes, and, well—  _ okay _ — this just got a lot more complicated but maybe also a lot  _ better _ , all in the span of one very brief minute.

“Maybe we should talk?” they say to her, and she nods. To alleviate any panic or regret she might be feeling, they try kissing her again. It’s better this time. More sure. Ezra is about to combust from the inside out. Is this what they’ve been missing, this whole time?

“I’m serious,” Lake says, like they’re a professional at moment-killing. “Get a room.”

“ _ Fine _ ,” Addy says, with a laugh that ends the second kiss. “We will.” She grabs Ezra’s hand, and Ezra’s chill from being outside has completely disappeared. They’re warm from head to toe. “But we’re coming back for  _ Frozen _ ,” she adds, like it’s a threat.

Ezra lets themselves be dragged across the apartment by the hand, to Addy’s room. They don’t know much right now, but they know it’s going to be a good winter break.


	17. 5 gifts, +1 more

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 17 of 25, a hybrid of a text post and a fic. In which, per a request in my Tumblr ask box, I wrote five sections of me explaining things, plus one ficlet at the end.  
> [PROMPT: Gifts Quinn & Nando get each other?](https://sincerelyreidburke.tumblr.com/post/637778623058837504/25-days-of-kiersey-content-thing-a-majig-gifts)

This is a lovely prompt, and I will now take you through a holiday gifting journey over the course of ten or so years of Quinn and Nando’s lives. I’m going to write this 5+1 style “as” myself, so it’s me telling you five stories about five different presents— and then I have an actual written ficlet for the last one, because I couldn’t resist. This is half Quindo holiday content and half Quindo lore. I regret absolutely nothing.

Without further ado, as you requested: five gifts Quinn and Nando get for each other over the years, and one gift that’s given to them by somebody else.

**_1\. freshman year_ **

The first thing you should know is that Quinn and Nando have only been dating for about a month by the time the end of the semester rolls around. Okay, wait, actually, it’s five weeks. But still. It’s not a huge amount of time. And they keep going back on forth on whether or not they want to do presents for the holiday before they leave campus, or if they want to mail them to each other. In the end, they decide to give each other gifts in person, because they’re both excited.

The gift I’m focusing on here is Quinn’s to Nando for that first year, but I will now pause to tell you what Nando gets Quinn freshman year. Because they’re about to go on winter break, Nando is concerned with making sure, to the best of his ability, that Quinn takes care of himself and relaxes while he’s “home” in Michigan, and so he makes a little box of things to help with that— some good teas for stress relief, fuzzy socks, a face mask that Ben helps him pick out (the skincare kind, not the pandemic kind…), and probably also a mug. In other words, Nando continues to be boyfriend of the year. It’s really thoughtful, and put together with Quinn’s relaxation in mind, and all in all it just makes Quinn really happy. Yes, he drinks that tea all through winter break. Yes, it makes him think of Nando every time. Yes, he’s completely soft and mushy about it, because one month into the relationship, Quinn is still in awe that he somehow has a real, live, actual college boyfriend.

But anyway, on to the main point of this section, which is Quinn’s gift to Nando that first year. I think I’ve actually mentioned this before, in passing, in a few things I’ve written. What Quinn does for Nando that first Christmas is this: he knits him a scarf, and also a matching winter hat. They’re both made of really soft burgundy-maroon-ish yarn, and although I don’t know about knitting patterns, I’ll tell you that I imagine Quinn uses a good one so that the stuff is nice and cozy. Quinn thinks that dark red is Nando’s color— which, honestly, it is; he looks handsome in it— and so he fully projects this onto the color he chooses to do the scarf and hat in.

This is touching for Nando, because a.) it’s handmade and Quinn spent a lot of time on it, and b.) scarves are kind of part of Quinn’s brand. By receiving a homemade scarf from Quinn, Nando feels like he’s wearing a part of him. And here’s a true, fun fact for you all: from the moment he receives that first scarf (which is most definitely not the last scarf Quinn knits for him), Nando wears a Quinn-made scarf with his suit each and every time he has to dress up for a game. And usually also a hat. For all their spring semester games freshman year, he wears the Christmas scarf. He looks very handsome. Quinn is very pleased with himself, since this was pretty much his main objective with the gift in the first place.

**_2\. junior year_ **

As has been implied and written about in a bunch of places, junior year is the first year where Quinn and Nando actually get to spend Christmas together. As in, December 25th. I have something coming up before the 25 Days of Kiersey are up that focuses on that first December 25th they spend together, during junior year, but for this, I’m going to focus on something that doesn’t come up in that ficlet: what Nando gets him for Christmas that year. And yes, I’m alternating between the gifter and giftee in these. So this one is Nando to Quinn, and the next one will be Quinn to Nando, and so on.

Anyway, sorry. On to the point. A bit of backstory that you should know for this one: Quinn Cooper loves tulips. I think I’ve said that before, at least in passing. Yes, this is a huge stereotype based on the fact that his European heritage is Dutch. But I don’t care. Tulips are the one thing from Michigan that Quinn is actually attached to, in a way where it upsets him that the junior year Michigan fiasco means he’ll never experience again. It’s not enough for him to actually miss Michigan, but he will miss his tulips.

Another thing you should know about Quinn is that he will, from time to time, wear jewelry. I said once to a friend that he’d wear a vintage pearl necklace, since he’s the king of classy things and vintage thrift finds, and I stand by that. For these purposes, though, we aren’t talking about pearls. Instead, I’m telling you that he’ll wear jewelry. Not earrings, since his ears aren’t pierced, and that’s not really his style to begin with. But he’d wear a small, simple bracelet, or a necklace, given the chance.

So with all of this in mind, Nando gets creative for this Christmas— and he orders Quinn a necklace. In all likelihood, it comes from Etsy. In my head, it looks very much like [this kind of necklace](https://www.pinterest.com/pin/569001734175757972/)— but it has a tulip petal in it. It’s probably a peach-colored petal with a gold chain, and the pendant part is circular. It’s not very large, but it’s pretty.

This is the kind of thing Quinn would probably wear very frequently, sometimes under his shirt and out of sight and sometimes above it as part of an outfit. I still think we sleep too much on Fashion Icon Quinn Cooper. The boy is a force. And yes, this necklace means very, very much to him. As a MLM couple, Quinn and Nando aren’t huge on jewelry as part of gift-giving, but this is a notable and significant exception. He cherishes that necklace. I think he’d probably wear it under his wedding suit if he could get away with it. And by the way, Nando has a necklace that he wears all the time, but it’s a cross that belonged to his papa. I’m not sure why I felt the need to tell you that in this context, but just FYI.

**_3\. senior year_ **

By senior year at Kiersey, Quinn and Nando are, dare I say, practically married. As captain and manager of an NCAA hockey team, they’re responsible for a bunch of wild frat boys, and they become something like team parents as a result of these responsibilities. Their life at college is a domestic one, and one that, by senior year, they’re well familiar with; it’s a comfortable and predictable routine. Leading the team their senior year sort of intensifies their domesticity. Make no mistake— Nando is still very much one of those wild frat boys at heart, but now he’s the leader of them. He’s more mature, more responsible, and more eager to help out and care for his friends (though he already had a ton of that eagerness to begin with). With Quinn at his side (and with Ben and Remy), as seniors, they’re an unstoppable force.

Quinn and Nando have also made a lot of waves in the college hockey world over the course of their time at Kiersey. Nando is fully out of the closet pretty much the whole time he’s at Kiersey, but by senior year, he’s become really vocal about it, and he makes a big deal out of inclusion in hockey. Because Kiersey is a team that gets college hockey media attention on a national level, this means that Nando’s advocacy also gets attention. From the moment they kissed during an on-ice celly sophomore year, Nando and Quinn have made the active choice to be ‘that gay NCAA hockey couple.’ And yes, Quinn is just the manager. But he still has a role on the team, and he continues to fill that role as half of ‘that couple’ by being open about his relationship with Nando, and standing by Nando’s side with all the media attention. (Nando gives Quinn a pregame kiss on the bench for each game, so just jot that down.)

At some point, and yes, I’m being extremely generous when it comes to allowing them to have niche fame, they’re on a magazine cover. It’s not a hugely famous magazine, but it’s a magazine that covers a bunch of college sports stuff. It’s a photo of them that gets taken after their championship win sophomore year, and that picture winds up circulating in a bunch of really niche areas of the Internet where loving hockey and loving queer stuff collide (like queer hockey Tumblr and Twitter…), and basically, it’s just a cute picture that winds up getting famous. They’re aware that this exists, obviously, but they don’t actually own a copy for themselves… until Quinn wants to do something KMH-related for Christmas, and has it framed.

So that’s your answer for this one. He gets a really nice frame, and he puts the magazine cover inside. He says they can put it in their house when they get one— since that’s now something they’re actively planning for— and it makes Nando muy soft. There’s probably also some other KMH-related stuff included with this present. Like, I think Quinn at some point sews him a rainbow C patch?

**_4\. first Christmas after graduation_ **

Right after their graduation from Kiersey, Nando and Quinn move in with Nando’s mama for a little while. It’s where they were already living, since Nando, like, grew up there, and it became Quinn’s permanent residence as of the winter break of junior year. (Again, that’s the result of the Michigan fiasco. If you don’t know what I’m talking about when I say that, it’s my less harsh way of saying ‘Quinn gets completely cut off by his grandparents, AKA his only existing guardians/family, because they find out he’s gay, and also that he’s been lying about a lot of his hobbies, interests, and life experiences, in order to avoid their bigotry, which, ultimately, he can’t avoid, as evidenced by the fact that they throw him out as soon as they find out.’)

Anyway. That was not the point. The point is that they move back in with Maria Hernandez after graduation, because they’re saving up for a house. Nando goes right into a full-time job with the Phoenix DSS, and Quinn takes a year off to do a little more professional theatre before he pledges his life to medical practice. They save up and plan, and by mid-autumn, they’ve gotten a place of their own. On the literal day they move in, they get engaged. Nando winds up proposing first, but fun fact: they both had plans to.

So by that Christmas, they’re all settled in. And that was a really long precursor to the gift, so my apologies for that. Here’s what the actual gift is this time: a camera. Nando gets Quinn a camera for Christmas. But not just any camera; he gets him a Polaroid. Not one of the disposable-looking ones, but one from the actual Polaroid company. This is because Quinn, from the moment he met him in college, has  _ loved _ the way Polaroid pictures look. And for awhile, he had a very old, vintage Polaroid camera that he found at some kind of secondhand store or something, which worked for him until it broke sometime mid-college. This was sad for Quinn, because he just likes taking Polaroids of things and people that mean something to him. Nando makes it his mission to replace the old, vintage camera that breaks, but, as a broke college student, he doesn’t really have the money for it until he’s established into his full-time job. This first Christmas in the real world is his first opportunity, and he absolutely capitalizes on it. Quinn takes so, so many pictures of him that one Christmas Day alone. He gets to start a new picture wall in their house, the way he had one in his dorm room.

**_5\. first Christmas as parents_ **

Hello, I’m already crying. Anyway. Let’s talk about this one now. It’s been quite awhile since I actually discussed Quindo as parents, but let’s go back over that. If you want a helpful introduction to Quinn and Nando’s kids, once they have all three of them, [this ficlet is great](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24199399/chapters/68885982). It’s about Nando walking his little sister down the aisle, but also a very effective glimpse into Quinn and Nando’s family once it’s entirely established. Quinn and Nando adopt three children altogether: Violet, Mia, and Max. Violet comes first, and she’s the only one who’s relevant to this post, because my chosen six Christmases predate Mia and Max. If you’ve been with me for awhile, you might remember that Violet is actually Quinn’s niece, turned adopted daughter, after the very sudden death of his sister. I’ve messed with the Kiersey timeline and universe quite a bit in some regards, one of them being that Quinn actually doesn’t know about any of his various half-siblings, Violet’s mother included. In other words, Quinn thinks he’s an only child. He’s not. His dad has children with many different women. The Grand Rapids social services people somehow wind up tracking him down when his half-sister who’s Violet’s mom dies, and suddenly, Quinn is in an Accidental Surprise Baby Acquisition AO3 trope.

(“Mel, why did you do away with Quinn’s knowledge of/relationship with Tess?” This was a sad and hard decision. I love Tess. She’s still in a couple fics, because they’re under construction. The reality is that Quinn wouldn’t go to a college halfway across the country and leave his sister with his grandparents, if she lived with them, because he would be too afraid to leave her by herself. For this reason, I had to change her role in his life. He only knows she ever existed after she’s gone, when he’s suddenly her daughter’s adoptive father. It’s sad and angsty. I’m sorry for doing this to you.)

Quinn and Nando take Violet into their home in Arizona, because Violet has nowhere else to go. They raise her as their own, and she’s their first daughter. Their first Christmas with Violet is the part that’s actually relevant to this collection of exposition. Violet is a small baby when they take her in, just about a year and a half old, and since that happens in April, she’s probably around 2 at that first Christmas.

This time around, Quinn sews Nando a patchwork apron. He puts a little sewn message on the inside seam of it that says something cheesy and cute, like  _ no. 1 chef and no. 1 papa _ . It takes him a  _ lot _ of time, and a lot of dodging Nando so Nando won’t see what he’s working on. It’s all in bright colors, and it’s perfect for Nando, whose recently added role as a dad has only enabled him more to spend lots of time in the kitchen. Quinn gives it to him from both himself and Violet, who is a small, babbling, curly-headed baby.

Yes, Nando cries. He cries quite a lot, actually. He wears his emotions on his sleeve. From then on, he always wears that apron. Quinn thinks it looks very handsome on him.

**_+1. one gift they were given by someone else_ **

Well… here you go.

*

_seven years after graduation_

_december 2029_

On the last day of school in December, Violet races off the bus like a bat out of hell.

Sebastián laughs, as he lifts her into his arms at the foot of the driveway. “Hey,  _ nenita _ .” He waves to the bus driver, then consults her. “How was the last day?”

“It was so fun!” Violet cries. She bounces in his arms, like she wants to go down. “I have to go inside. I need to put something under the tree!”

“Under the tree?” Sebastián echoes, with a smile. “What, you mean a present?”

Violet nods. “I made it at school,” she explains, with a bright, proud smile. “It’s for you and Daddy. But you  _ can’t open it _ until Christmas!”

“Aww, Vi.” Sebastián’s insides soften. He sets her down on her own feet, and takes her hand to lead her up to the house. “You made something for us? That was so nice of you.”

“We had Christmas arts and crafts today.” She holds her chin high while she walks, free hand on her backpack strap. “Ms. Romero helped me, but only a little.”

“Well, I’m excited to see it,” he replies.

“You can’t peek!” She waves her fist up at him. It’s a clear threat. “You can’t. It’s a secret ‘til Christmas.”

He smiles down at her. “I won’t peek,  _ mija _ .” At the front door, he lets her in first, and closes it behind them as she’s taking off her shoes.

Violet sets her backpack down next, and unzips it to dig into it. She shoots him a glance as she’s doing so, and he looks away, so he won’t get falsely accused of peeking. When she pulls out what she’s looking for, she holds it close to her chest. Whatever it is, it’s wrapped in green tissue paper, with a red bow. “You promise?” she asks.

He nods, and crosses his heart. “I promise. No peeking.”

The death stare evaporates, and Violet smiles again. “Okay!” she says, and then dashes across the kitchen, secret gift in hand, no doubt headed to deposit it under the tree in the living room. Sebastián picks her backpack up, and hangs it on a hook by the door. It’s tiny, purple, and bucket-style; Quinn sewed it for her over the summer, and she got it for her first day of kindergarten. It was an emotional occasion— but more so for them than for her. She came home with stories galore about her classmates and teacher; they had to pretend like they didn’t cry when they dropped her off.

She’s little, objectively, but  _ damn _ , does this go faster than Sebastián thought it would.

“Done!” Violet yells, from the living room, and reappears in the doorway back to the kitchen. “Now you have to wait.”

“I’m excited to see it on Christmas,” he tells her, then meets her in the middle of the room to scoop her up again. She leans on his shoulder, and he smiles. “You hungry?”

*

A week later, on Christmas morning, Violet is in her glory. She wakes them up just after sunrise, because, even having been out well past midnight for Nochebuena, a kindergartener cannot be kept in bed long on Christmas morning. Sebastián makes coffee for himself, plus tea for Quinn, and they sit in the living room in their pajamas, and Violet dives under the tree. He expects her to go for one of her own gifts first— almost all of the small pile under there is for her, after all— but she doesn’t. When she turns back around, she’s holding the green tissue package in her hands. She brings it to them on the couch, and insists, “You have to open this one first.”

Quinn takes it from her, gently, and sets his tea down on the coffee table. “Oh, sweetheart,” he says, with a smile. “Is this the one you made in school?”

“Yup!” Violet nods, and jumps up onto the coffee table like she wants to sit there.

“Hey—  _ Vi _ , be careful,” Sebastián cautions. He scoots over on the couch, to make a space for her. “Here— you can come sit here.”

So she clambers off the table, and takes the spot on the couch. “Together!” she says. “You have to open it together.”

Sebastián looks to his husband. Quinn is still in his pajamas, plaid ones that match each other, and his bathrobe, even though it’s not that cold. His hair is messy, and he’s thoroughly  _ not _ put together. He’ll always be the most handsome thing Sebastián has ever seen. “Well?” Quinn holds up the present. “Shall we, Papa?”

Sebastián grins. He ruffles Violet’s hair, then nods to Quinn. “Let’s do it.”

Quinn pulls off the bow, and he gets to rip the tissue. Beneath it is a small, homemade Christmas ornament. It hangs from a piece of velvety red ribbon, and it’s made of white construction paper, cut into the shape of a snowglobe, with sequins glued all along its edges. Within the ‘globe’ part of the snowglobe is a drawing, in colored pencil. There are three snowmen inside: a big, tall one with curly hair, and a shorter one, wearing a blue scarf, and then a very small one, with pigtails and a purple bow. “See?” Violet clambers into his lap, and points as she explains. “That one’s you, Papa, and then that one’s you, Daddy, and that one’s me!”

Sebastián laughs, and knows full well he’s tearing up. The snowmen are all holding hands. “Oh,  _ mija _ ; it’s  _ beautiful _ .”

“I  _ love _ it, Vi,” Quinn adds, and wraps her up in a sideways hug, kissing the top of her head. “You made this all by yourself?”

“Yeah!” Violet cries, then backtracks, with a sheepish smile up at Quinn. “Well… Ms. Romero helped me, but only a little.”

“You did a lovely job,” Quinn says. He holds it up, and meets Sebastián’s eyes. “It’ll look perfect on the tree, won’t it, Papa?”

“It definitely will.” Sebastián takes it from him, and looks to Violet. “You wanna help hang it?” he asks her.

She nods, and just about leaps into his arms. “Yeah!”

So he stands, and carries her over to the tree. “Find me a good branch,” he tells her, so she hunts diligently, looking through the garland, the lights, and their collection of various ornaments, until she points to an empty branch near the top.

“That one,” she says, with a smile.

Sebastián hangs it, and tries to blink away the mist that’s still lingering in his eyes while he does it. “It looks perfect,  _ nena _ .”

From the couch, Quinn applauds. “Thank you, Vi,” he says. “That’s our first ornament from you!”

Sebastián walks her back over to the couch. “What about the one I got with Tia Rosa?” she asks, as they sit back down.

“I mean the first one you’ve  _ made _ us,” Quinn replies. He gives her hand a squeeze, and then says, “It’s very special.”

Violet beams. “Okay.” Sebastián wipes his eye with the back of his hand. He can tell Quinn notices that, but Violet doesn’t; she’s preening over her gifting success.

Quinn rests a hand gently on her back. She, too, is wearing a pajama top and bottom that match; they’re patterned all over with reindeer. “Do you want to see what Santa got you?” he asks her.

Once again, Violet engages hyperactive kindergartener mode. She nods, and leaps off the couch. “Yeah!” she cries, and slides back onto the carpet under the tree. She lifts a small box wrapped in silver paper, and holds it up to say, “I’ll open this one first. I like the paper.”

“Okay, sweetheart,” Quinn chuckles. He leans forward to take his tea back from the table, then leans all the way back, and Sebastián wraps an arm around him. When Quinn tucks up against his side, Sebastián kisses the top of his messy, ginger head.

They’re ready for Christmas morning.

On the floor, Violet tears open the silver paper, and so it begins.


	18. secret recipe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 18 of 25 shows us more of Cole's mom, in which we get to see her interacting with Ben. We saw [Ben being rejected by his nuclear family](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27826648/chapters/68318770) earlier this month, and now we get to see Ben being welcomed into Cole's family. Wholesome content ahead!  
> [PROMPT: On the last night of Hanukkah, Debbie teaches Ben to make latkes.](https://sincerelyreidburke.tumblr.com/post/637880588437733376/day-18-more-of-coles-mom-coles-mom-is-debbie)

_ four years after Ben’s graduation, at Hanukkah _

_ december 12th, 2026 _

About an hour before sunset, on the last night of Hanukkah, Zaydeh Bernstein has an actual conniption.

Ben has to try extremely hard not to laugh, as he watches it unfold. “Wait!” Zaydeh is in the arm chair in Debbie’s living when it happens, where he’s been lounging for most of the afternoon. The home shopping channel is on, because somehow, the dude can be absolutely mesmerized by hours of commercials for shit he doesn’t need. This outburst, though, has nothing to do with the TV. Ben watches from the periphery, also known as the couch, and doesn’t laugh.

“You okay, Dad?” Debbie is a champ, and is completely unbothered. She’s washing potatoes, and has refused multiple offers for help.

Zaydeh is patting down all his pockets, one at a time. “I ran out of gelt last night,” he says, and the look on his face can be described only as pure horror. “Didn’t I?” he asks, looking right to Cole, who he apparently deems the authority on this topic.

Ben looks to him, too; Cole is right next to him, wrapped up in his arm where it’s resting across his shoulders. “Uh…” Cole says to Zaydeh, and squints, fixing his glasses. Ben will never be over how cute even the simplest, most mundane of Cole’s gestures are. “I don’t remember?”

“I did,” Zaydeh says, once he’s pat himself down at every pocket, and then stands up clean out of the chair. “Last night, I did. And I forgot to buy more today.” This is, apparently, a national emergency. Ben still does not laugh. Zaydeh is a fantastic human being.

“Uh-oh,” Debbie sings, from the kitchen. “Your stockpile is depleted?” 

Next, he whirls on Ben himself. Zaydeh talks with his hands; right now, his gestures border on flailing. “How will we finish our tournament?”

“Oh, no.” Ben actually frowns at this. The dreidel tournament with Zaydeh has actually become a holiday tradition for him, even though this is only his second year celebrating Hanukkah. He doesn’t want to make some kind of Jewish cultural error, but he suggests a solution anyway. “We could… uh, play without it?”

Zaydeh waves his hand around and shakes his head. “Where’s the fun in that?” His voice is just getting louder. Ben isn’t sure whether they should be concerned. “Cole,” Zaydeh says, very abruptly, and points to Cole as if for emphasis. “You have to come to the store with me.”

Cole does his squinty thing again, and Ben grins a little. “You… want to go out?” Cole asks him. His voice is quiet; he seems completely at ease. “But it’s an hour to sunset.”

“We won’t be long!” Zaydeh gestures like he wants him to get up. “Time’s ticking. Who knows if they’ll have any left!”

“You should go, babe,” Ben says, grinning wider, because he is an instigator at heart if nothing else. When Cole turns to meet his eyes, he adds, “It’s the only way to save the final round of the dreidel tournament.”

“Exactly,” Zaydeh says, apparently pleased to have someone on his side. He nods at Ben, all decisive and firm. Ben is unreasonably proud to have his approval. “Good man.”

“Well…” Cole is quiet for a second, then sighs and stands up. He turns and looks over the back of the couch, toward the kitchen. “Mom, do you care if we go out?”

“Not as long as you’re back by dark,” Debbie says, still washing away. It’s only then that Ben realizes what it would mean if Cole went to the store with Zaydeh, and Debbie voices it at the same time it comes to mind. “Ben, are you going, too?”

“Uh…” Ben hesitates, and looks between Cole and Zaydeh. The thought of being alone with Debbie is— well, not  _ bad _ , since Debbie is one of the certifiably nicest ladies he’s ever met in his life, but maybe just a little intimidating. After all, if life goes even a little bit his way, she’ll be his mother-in-law a few years down the road. And since she’s one of the world’s nicest people, he very, very much wants— even almost two years into his relationship with Cole— to be on her good side.

So he’ll stay, he decides. He’ll stay and hang out with Debbie. “I think they have it covered, right?” he says, and looks to Cole for confirmation that comes in the form of a small smile. “I’ll stick around here,” he continues, then gets up off his lazy ass and leaves the sweet sweet embrace of the couch cushion behind. “Do you need help with those potatoes?”

“Actually…” Debbie pauses a moment; she’s standing over the sink, and Ben watches her think before he decides out loud, “If you’re up for it, I could put you to work on the grater.”

“Ooh.” Cole sounds like he’s about to tease a little, which is always extremely fucking cute. “You’re gonna trust him with the secret recipe?”

Debbie raises both eyebrows, and shuts off the water at the sink. “Who said anything about the secret recipe?”

Ben folds his arms and leans against the back of the couch. “I’m really good at keeping secrets.”

“Come on, Cole.” Zaydeh is in a rush, or so it seems. Then again, there’s only so much of a rush you can be in when you use a cane to walk. The dude is a champ, just like his daughter. He bustles across the kitchen, and stops to take his jacket off a hook by the door. “The sooner we leave, the sooner we get back.”

Cole laughs at him as he goes, and then looks up to Ben, and rests a hand on his arm briefly to ask, “You’re sure you’ll be good waiting here?”

Ben slides his hand up to squeeze his, just once, and nods. “I’ll be good,” he replies. Cole smiles, and it’s a near perfect sight. In nice clothes for the holiday, he’s cute from kippah to dress shoes. Ben likes Jewish holidays for a lot of reasons, one of them being he gets to see Cole look all spiffy for multiple days at a time.

Then again. He’s equally appealing when he’s on a stage in ripped jeans and a flannel, so, like. Ben figures it’s pretty much just that Cole himself is cute. Hot. Handsome. All of it.

He shakes himself out, and watches Cole go to join Zaydeh at the door. “Where are you gonna go?” Debbie asks, as they’re getting ready.

“We’ll try Walgreens,” Cole replies. “And if not—”

“If not, we’re in trouble!” Zaydeh cries. “Hurry, Cole. I’ll meet you in the car.”

Cole laughs after him, as he grabs his keys and makes a break for it. As he recedes from sight, and nears the front door, Cole turns to look between Ben and Debbie, and mouths,  _ Wish me luck _ .

Ben laughs into his hand. Debbie waves. “Have fun!”

Cole laughs, and shrugs his winter coat over his suit jacket before he turns to follow him. “We will.”

Debbie smiles after them as they’re going, then calls, “And Cole— please don’t let your grandfather drive like a maniac.”

“I’ll use the oh-shit handles!” Cole replies, and she laughs, as the sound of the door closing signals their departure.

Ben wastes no time, and pulls off his suit jacket as he walks fully into the kitchen. “Okay,” he says, and hangs it on the back of his chair at the table. “How can I help?”

Debbie smiles, and points him to the massive stockpile of potatoes in the sink. “Those are all washed,” she says. “I’ll get you the grater, and you can get going. Can you handle that?”

He grins back, and unbuttons his sleeves to roll them up. “I can definitely handle that.”

“Perfect.” Debbie reaches into a low cabinet and pulls out a near industrial-sized grater, then sets him up with it and a huge bowl at a partition of the counter.

“Wow,” he laughs, as he takes to the grater with his first potato. It’s a little harder to grate it than he expects it to be, but it is, after all, a raw potato. “You don’t mess around with your latkes. This grater is  _ huge _ .”

“It may as well be a sin to mess around with latkes,” Debbie replies, and takes her place next to him at the counter. She’s slicing onions ultra-thin, but not crying, because, once again: Debbie Bernstein is a champ. “I’ll teach you how we make them,” she adds. “Cole was just teasing; it’s not some big secret.”

“Whatever the recipe is,” he replies, “they’re  _ really _ good.” That’s an understatement, and he knows it as soon as he says it, so he amends, “Like— out of this world. I’ve never had anything like them.”

Debbie laughs. “You’re very kind, Ben,” she says, and with that, they get to work.

*

As it turns out, it’s an intricate process. Debbie talks him through what she’s doing, and has him help along the way. For the first good while, she has him grating, and that part is easy, from the mundane task to the conversation that accompanies it. She asks him about work, and he talks a little about his latest project, but they inevitably wind up back on Cole— on his music, on the writing process for the new album, on how good he’s doing lately. They share a joy in seeing that, Ben knows. He can hear it in Debbie’s voice the same way he feels it in himself. “I’m so proud of him,” she says, as she’s scraping her slivered onions off the cutting board and into her bowl. “He’s truly doing so much better.”

“I know,” Ben replies. “He’s… happy. It’s—” He chuckles a little, and shrugs. “I don’t have words.”

“He really is, Ben.” She rests her hand on his elbow, just for a second, like she wants him to stop grating. He does, and meets her eyes. She and Cole have the same eyes. Ben has known this for awhile, but it feels extra poignant right now, while they’re talking about him. “I hope it stays this way,” Debbie says.

He nods. “I hope so, too,” he tells her, but adds, “I’ll be here, if it doesn’t. But I hope it does. And I think it will, I mean— what with all the album stuff, and the touring— he’s so much happier doing this. Y’know?”

Debbie nods, with a knowing smile. “It’s thanks to you, too.”

He feels his face warm a little. It’s a nice thing to hear, from someone else who loves Cole as much as he does. He ducks his head, smiles, and keeps grating.

For a moment, it’s quiet in the kitchen. The grater makes a funny noise, as he shoves the potatoes into it. It’s honestly a good arm workout. He wonders if he’ll be sore in the morning. He’s so content— almost  _ vibing _ , dare he say— that Debbie’s next question catches him completely off-guard. “Are you… planning anything special for Christmas?”

It’s completely ingenuous, and that’s why he feels bad for immediately wanting to recoil. After all, Debbie is just being nice. He may be in her house, on a Jewish holiday, wearing a kippah, but he technically does celebrate Christmas. Sort of.

“Uh,” is his first, very eloquent response.  _ Nice _ . Super smooth and chill. It’s not that he has to be smooth and chill; it’s just he would prefer to appear like he isn’t bothered by the implication of celebrating Christmas. Like it doesn’t make him sick to his stomach.

Debbie, maybe because of maternal instinct or something, seems to sense his discomfort. “I’m sorry,” she says. “That was inconsiderate of me.”

“No— no, I’m sorry, Debbie.” He shakes his head, and looks over to her. If there’s one thing he doesn’t want to do, it’s make Debbie feel bad. “The truth is I just don’t know. I haven’t, uh— I haven’t talked to my parents yet.”

The likelihood he  _ will _ talk to his parents between now and Christmas is kind of small. It’s not that he isn’t welcome in the Shaley household— far from it, actually. They invite him over for dinner on almost a regular basis, and have pretty consistently since last Christmas, when the disaster began. It’s just that he tends to turn those invitations down, once he realized those dinner invites are a masked way to attempt to turn him away from his sinful ways.

Look. He didn’t  _ mean _ to ruin last year’s Shaley Christmas Eve by coming out to the entire family… it just happened. And though they didn’t cut him off, nothing has been the same since.

Debbie mostly knows this. She’s been the most welcoming person in the wake of his self-destruction of his familial relationships. He can’t blame her for asking, though. “I hope they’ll call,” she says. “Or you might get to see your sister?”

Ben nods. If there’s one Shaley he can count on, even after all of this, it’s Abby. “I’ll probably see Abby,” he says. “I have a present for her. And her girlfriend. And their dog.”

“Aww.” Debbie smiles, and halves another onion. “That’s nice of you.”

He takes a deep breath, and has no idea why it’s a little harder to breathe all of a sudden. He focuses on grating, and hopes it’ll pass. Yet again, Debbie notices. She tends to notice everything. “Ben,” she says, but continues what she’s doing— plays completely casual. “I’m really glad you join us for Hanukkah.”

“I’m really glad you  _ have _ me,” he says, without hesitating, because he’ll never stop being grateful for Debbie and Zaydeh and the way Cole’s family has welcomed him in. The way they’ve picked up the slack his own family has dropped. The way they haven’t changed their minds, haven’t pushed him away despite his own distance from family. The way they’ve been an extension of Cole’s love. “Coming here— it’s my favorite part of the holidays now.”

Debbie’s smile returns. She stops with her onion, and raises her eyebrows. “Really?”

“Really,” he affirms. “I love Hanukkah. And my dreidel tournament.”

Debbie laughs. “Well, my dad takes it very seriously, as you can tell.”

“He kicks my ass,” Ben confesses. “And it’s the best, honestly. I just— this is—” He swallows, and waits just a second to gather his thoughts. If he’s going to be heartfelt, he may as well just go for it. All of it is true, and Debbie deserves to hear it. “Thank you for showing me what a family holiday should be.”

Debbie softens. She reaches for him, and gives him a good, tight, sideways hug. “Oh, Ben,” she murmurs. “You’re always welcome here, okay? And there’s no need to thank me.” When she releases him, she adds, “You’re practically family.”

Ben smiles. He can’t help it. “Thank you,” he repeats, even though she literally just told him he doesn’t need to do that. She doesn’t correct him; she just goes back to her onion and smiles.

“And I hope you’ll stick around,” she says, after a moment, with something kind of playful in her voice. “I keep telling Cole,  _ you’d better marry that boy _ —”

Ben laughs. It’s not the first time marriage has come up. At this point, he thinks it’s just the assumption for their future, the general consensus.

It’s a really,  _ really _ nice assumption to be making.

“I plan to stick around,” he tells Debbie, and then grates away until he’s depleted the potato stockpile entirely. He pretends not to be soft as fuck, but probably fails. He can’t help it. Any thought of a future like that with Cole— it’s enough to take away all the weirdness of talking about the holidays.

“That’s the last potato,” he announces when he’s done, and lifts the grater out of the bowl to present his mass of potato shred. “I’m ready for step two.”

“ _ Perfect _ ,” Debbie says, and beckons for him to follow her back to the sink. “Bring me the bowl. Let’s make some magic happen.”

Ben complies, and laughs, and learns more family recipe not-so-secrets.

The latkes turn out absolutely delicious. But then again, at Debbie’s, they always are.


	19. open skate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt I'm filling for day 19 of 25 is VERY old, but very timely for December. Here's even more good old fashioned Quindo! I knew that the story of Nando getting Quinn on the ice for the first time was going to be something that took place around December, so I decided back when I was planning this series that it would be a good time to fill this long overdue prompt. Cuteness and humor ahead, featuring a guest star appearance by Quinn's friend Maggie from the drama club.  
> [PROMPT: I'd kill to see Nando get Quinn on the ice.](https://sincerelyreidburke.tumblr.com/post/637967770531840000/okay-dude-i-honestly-wasnt-really-planning-on)

_Quinn’s freshman year_

_december 2018_

_New Message_

_12/4/18, 9:21 AM_

_FROM:_ [ _gkemperle@kiersey.edu_ ](mailto:gkemperle@kiersey.edu)

_TO: Kiersey Community Forum_

_SUBJECT: Open Ice at Meelia Arena_

_Dear Kiersey community,_

_This Saturday, at Meelia Arena, we’ll be hosting open skate for students from 1-4 PM. Students may bring their own skates, or, alternatively, there will be a limited number of skates available for rental. We hope to see you there!_

_George Kemperle_

_Manager, Meelia Ice Arena_

*

_iMessage_

_12/4/18, 11:33 AM_

_Sebastián♥️: hey baby❤️_

_Sebastián♥️: what are you doing saturday?_

_Me: Nothing that I’m aware of!_

_Me: Besides studying, I suppose. Why do you ask?🥰_

_Sebastián♥️: they’re having open ice at meelia from 1-4_

_Sebastián♥️: we should go_

_Me: Open ice as in skating?_

_Sebastián♥️: yeah!!_

_Sebastián♥️: it’ll be fun!!!!!❤️❤️❤️❤️_

_Me: I must warn you… I’m not a very good skater…_

_Me: This doesn’t mean I don’t want to go, of course, but you should be aware of that ahead of time…_

_Sebastián♥️: hahaha that’s okay!_

_Sebastián♥️: i’ll help you, that’s part of the fun😘🥰_

_Me: Oh my goodness._

_Me: Well, I suppose you’ll see how bad it is for yourself on Saturday!_

_Sebastián♥️: i’m looking forward to it🥰🥰_

_Me: So am I.🥰🥰_

*

Quinn knew this day was coming eventually.

It may as well have been in the fine print, in the metaphorical contract he signed when he decided to become a hockey player’s boyfriend. Whether you like it or not, there are certain things that this just _means_ — like the guarantee that his teammates will make fun of both of you, and the invitations to raging frat parties, and the fact that you should try to make it to his games. All of these things are well worth it when it comes to dating Sebastián— in fact, they’re part of the fun— but they aren’t the only things.

Which has led him to today, Saturday, and their plans for the afternoon. It’s natural, Quinn knows, that a hockey player dating someone who doesn’t skate or play hockey would want to take their partner on a skating date. After all, skating dates are things that couples do even when _both_ of them don’t know how to skate; they’re simply a winter staple. Of course Sebastián would want to do this with him. He should be excited.

Quinn supposes he just should have _prepared_ himself better for the _implications_ of a skating date— because when he sits down to brunch with Maggie, three hours before he’s scheduled to be picked up at his dorm by Sebastián and walked over to make a fool of himself at Meelia Arena, it’s safe to say that he’s a tad anticipatory about it.

He tries to play it off casually, when Maggie brings it up. “Are you seeing Sebastián later?” she asks, from the other side of the small table. They’re tucked into a corner booth at the Bluegrass Café, which Quinn has learned is an ideal spot for brunch, especially on a chilly Saturday morning. Since students returned from Thanksgiving break, the Bluegrass staff have decorated the dining space for the holidays; there’s an inflatable snowman by the door to welcome people in.

Quinn nods, and wraps his hands around his cup of earl gray tea. “I am,” he replies, maintaining as much composure through his internal panic as he can muster. “We’re meeting up at two o’clock.”

“Very exciting.” Maggie throws a teasing smile across the table. “And what’s on the agenda, pray tell? More spontaneous cookie baking?”

“I’ll have you know,” he replies, placing both palms on the table, “that was a lovely date. _And_ the cookies are delicious. Remind me and I’ll bring you your tin tomorrow.”

“I’m offended you haven’t given it to me yet,” she replies, then winks as she takes a bite of her omelette.

Quinn rolls his eyes, then takes a deep breath. “In fact,” he tells her, without making eye contact, “today, we’re going to open skate at the ice arena.”

“Oh my gosh,” Maggie says. “Shut _up_. That is so cute.”

“It is cute,” he replies, and truly, it is. “I’m— looking forward to it.” He wonders if the fact that he pauses in the middle of this sentence makes it seem less true, and only has to wait a moment to find out if he’s correct.

“Wait, what’s wrong?” When he looks back up at Maggie, she’s fiddling with her necklace, a small heart charm on a rose-gold chain. “Are you… _not_ looking forward to it?”

“No, I am,” he assures her. He reaches for his tea again, and takes a long sip while he attempts to phrase what his setback is. He wonders why he can’t just _say_ it. It’s only Maggie, his closest friend on campus. “I suppose I just— well— I’m a bit worried about embarrassing myself.”

“Embarrassing yourself?” she echoes, and then— as if it’s a realization— a small smile curves in her pink lip gloss. “Wait,” she says. “Wait. Can you not skate?” He gives her the smallest shake of his head, because that’s, for some reason, a bit easier than saying it out loud. “Oh my gosh,” Maggie cries. “Have you _never_ skated?”

“Well, _goodness_ , you don’t have to shout it,” he hisses, and leans forward in his seat. “I don’t need the whole café knowing.”

“Quinn,” Maggie laughs, holding her fork next to her face, “you don’t have to be embarrassed over that. I can’t really skate, either.”

“I _am_ embarrassed!” he cries. “Sebastián doesn’t know. I’m going to get to Meelia today and make a complete idiot of myself.”

“I’m pretty sure Sebastián doesn’t care that you can’t skate,” she replies, raising her eyebrows. “In fact, I’m pretty sure he’ll think it’s _cute_ that you can’t.” She squints a little, like she’s thinking, and then, in a lower voice, adds, “I feel like hockey guys kinda get off on that.”

“ _Magdalena Atkins_.” He reaches across the table to swat at her. “Get your head out of the gutter.”

“Oh, please.” Maggie rolls her eyes, and nonchalantly tosses a blond curl behind her shoulder. “You don’t get to tell me to get my mind out of the gutter. Do we need to go over our texting conversation last night?”

“We most certainly do _not_ ,” he whispers, and by the second, he’s becoming more and more aware of the fact that his face must be turning red. That is, if its temperature is any indication. He swipes his hair to the side of his forehead, folds his hands under his chin, and takes a long, deep breath. Maggie is making eyebrows at him again. He glares at her. “My point,” he says, “was that I can’t be flailing and falling around on the ice. It would be incredibly out of character. _And_ I could injure myself!”

“Riiiiight.” Maggie nods, and waves a bite of omelette around as she teases, “Your ego might get seriously injured.”

He bristles, and puts both hands on either side of his breakfast plate. “I’ll leave,” he threatens. “I’ll stand you up on this brunch date.”

“You would never.” She blows him a kiss, and he rolls his eyes, then huffs and goes back to his breakfast and tea. “I’m serious, though,” she says, after a second. “I think he’ll find it cute. You don’t have to be embarrassed by that.”

She sounds sure of herself, but it isn’t enough for his brain. He lets off a sigh and lifts his tea again. “I suppose,” he remarks, and decides he has to finish brunch without thinking about it too much. “What are _you_ doing today?”

*

As promised, Sebastián comes knocking on his dorm room door at quarter to two. Quinn allows himself two entire deep breaths before he pulls it open, and when he does, Sebastián hits the ground running. “Hey, baby!” He leans on his door frame, and Quinn takes a moment to admire. He’s in joggers, and his maroon jersey-style sweatshirt with the coyote logo on it— it stands for his favorite NHL team, Quinn knows. There’s a Kiersey stocking cap on his curly head, and a smile on his face. As always, he’s the most handsome boy on campus. “Are you ready?”

Quinn dusts himself off, and slides his school ID into his pocket. “I suppose I’m as ready as I will be,” he replies. Sebastián laughs, and kisses him out of nowhere. He last saw him last night, but his hello kiss may as well be a reunion of a week’s separation. Quinn will never mind his excitement; he kisses him back on his tiptoes.

“C’mon, then,” Sebastián says. His breath is warm on Quinn’s face, and his smile persists. For a moment, it’s almost enough to forget about how terrified Quinn is for the experience they’re about to have.

But he has no choice— he signed up for this. He didn’t want to say no. He has to face the music now, to deal with the consequences of his own agreements. Even if it means making a complete fool of himself. In front of many people, including Sebastián. At Meelia Arena.

_Oh, dear._

He closes his door behind them, and they’re off. The walk to Meelia from Wilson Hall is about seven minutes or so— Quinn knows this, has counted them, has done this a handful of times even in only a month of dating a hockey boy. For the entire duration of that seven minutes today, he tries to hunt for a way to tell Sebastián, to get the embarrassing truth off his chest. But Sebastián talks a lot, fills conversational space easily and enthusiastically, and Quinn doesn’t find a chance. “I’m so excited,” he says, as they go. “I’ve been waiting for open ice since I met you. I guess they don’t do it that often at Meelia? I was sort of surprised by that. But then again— between us and the women’s team, lots of home games, I guess!”

Quinn laughs gently, and holds tight to his arm. They move across campus at a brisk pace, thanks to his natural tendency to speed-walk combined with Sebastián’s long legs. “I suppose you’re right,” he replies, calm as he can manage, as if his internal panic isn’t worsening by the minute.

Once inside the arena, it gets even worse. Because now he can _see_ it— the sleek, gleaming ice, populated by a decent quantity of skating students, with Christmas music piping through the arena sound system. That’s where he’ll be in a few minutes’ time. This is the direct site of his future mortification. He takes a long breath, as he looks at the ice, as if it’ll help. It doesn’t.

“My skates are in the locker room,” Sebastián tells him, and tilts his head in that direction. “Are you gonna rent?”

“I— suppose that’s my only option, yes,” Quinn replies, and looks over to the small rental window, which is usually the place where the hockey boys go to get their skates sharpened. The arena manager, a gray-haired man named George, is at the window, with a few rows of skates behind him, and there’s nobody in line. Quinn swallows, and looks back to Sebastián. “Shall I meet you on the benches?”

“Sure thing, baby.” Sebastián kisses his cheek before he lets go of his arm. “I’ll be right back!” he calls, over his shoulder, as he’s jogging toward the locker room entrance.

Quinn whirls around on his heel, and stares down the skate rental window. George catches his eye, though he’s a few yards away, and gives him a friendly wave. “Hey there,” he says. “You need some skates?”

Quinn looks over his shoulder, but Sebastián has disappeared into the locker room. He squares his shoulders, and walks to George at the window. There’s no turning back now. “I suppose I do,” he says. “Although…” He scans the rows behind George, and frowns. “Truth be told, I have no idea what size I wear.”

“Well,” George replies, “what shoe size do you wear?”

He winds up with a pair of size six skates, and carries them to the bench at the side of the rink just as Sebastián re-emerges from the locker room. Quinn sits down on the bench and starts to untie his Oxfords, praying to any deity that might hear him that this won’t be quite as hard as it looks.

After all, he tells himself as he slides off his shoes, he’s a coordinated person. He’s a _dancer_ , for goodness’ sakes. True, it’s been awhile since he danced, since his summer rec classes in Grand Rapids were his last chance to do so, but it’s still very much a part of him, and he has the coordination to prove it. He can do the splits, pirouettes, somersaults, and every kind of leap under the sun. And it’s not only dancing— he prides himself in his carefully crafted demeanor, in his posture, in his learned formality. All of this should mean that skating won’t be difficult. It’s only walking… on steel blades… on top of a sheet of frozen water.

Goodness.

“Do you need help, baby?” Sebastián asks, right next to him on the bench, as they’re tying their skates. Or, more accurately, as _he_ is tying his skates, and Quinn is trying to figure out how to tie his rental pair. “I can help you,” Sebastián offers, before he can make some kind of silly excuse, and he figures there’s no reason he should decline that offer.

“That would be lovely,” he says, and gives up his own fight with the laces. “Thank you.”

Sebastián is quick with his own skates— he looks natural with them on; they’re just an extension of his sporty handsomeness, and though they make him all the larger when he stands up, that is certainly not a bad thing. Quinn admires that, for just a moment, before Sebastián kneels in front of him and takes to the laces of his rentals. “Oh, goodness,” he breathes, as he pulls them much tighter than expected.

“Sorry, _cariño_ ,” Sebastián says, and laughs as he eases up on the tying. “It’s just important that they’re tight, so you don’t roll your ankle or something.”

 _Great._ Wonderful. Quinn masks his reaction as best he can, and prays that if he injures himself, he’ll be healed up in time for _Dear Evan Hansen_ auditions in January.

Sebastián ties his skates with as much precision as he laced up his own, and before Quinn knows it, they’re ready to go. Or at least physically ready. Emotionally is a different story entirely. When he stands up on the skates, he has to wave his arms a bit to steady himself. The blades are so narrow, and he isn’t even on the ice yet. “Oh!”

Sebastián smiles. “Lost your balance?”

“Only a little,” he replies, and manages to walk on his own two feet successfully all the way until they reach the door to get on the ice. It’s then that it hits him how silly he’s being. What is he going to do, get on the ice and immediately fall on his face, all because he couldn’t swallow his pride and say something? Poor Sebastián is so excited. He looks so ready to go, as he leads Quinn by the hand, halfway across the divide between rubber floor and rink already. The least Quinn can do is warn him. He has to stop being ridiculous. “Sebastián,” he says, right as he’s watching him step forward, as inches separate them from both being on the rink. He grabs the sleeve of his coyote sweatshirt. “Wait, Sebastián— _Ican’tskate_.”

Sebastián, to his credit, does wait. He turns, and furrows his brow, like he didn’t hear him. “What?”

Oh, goodness. Quinn knows he’s blushing again. “I’ve never skated before,” he tells him, and waits for the horrors of embarrassment to descend upon him.

Sebastián’s expression changes, but only just slightly. He doesn’t _frown_ ; in fact, he smiles. It’s a confused smile, but a smile nonetheless. “Wait, what?” he repeats. “Baby— why didn’t you say something?”

He isn’t angry, or laughing at him, and Quinn knows both of these things, so it’s a bit easier to say the next thing. “Well, I didn’t want to say _no_ !” he says. “I mean, goodness, you were so excited— and I very much _want_ to do this with you; I just—” He hides his eyes with his hand, and hangs his head. “I don’t know how.”

At least it’s out in the open. At least he admitted it. Sebastián says nothing, for a split second, and then Quinn feels him tighten his grip on his hand. “It doesn’t matter, baby,” he says. “That you can’t skate, I mean. Skating takes practice. And plus—” He squeezes his hand, and that’s enough for Quinn to meet his eyes again. His smile is charming enough to ease him; Quinn feels distinctly less mortified. “I can teach you.”

“Oh, goodness,” he laughs, and now he feels he’s red in the face for a _different_ reason. This boy. “I can’t promise I’ll be the fastest learning student, in this particular category.” He hesitates, then adds, as a cursory confession, “And I am a bit worried about hurting myself.”

“I won’t let you fall,” Sebastián promises, and then lets go of his hand to step fully onto the ice. He skates backwards, because he can do that, and makes one small circle by the door before he turns back to him and holds his hands across the threshold. “One foot at a time,” he says. “I’m right here.”

In his smile, warm and handsome as always, Quinn finds enough trust to take the plunge.

He takes both his hands, and steps forward. One foot at a time. Sebastián has a tight grip, and once he has both skates on the ice, he’s surprised with how easily they slip and slide beneath him. “Oh, goodness,” he whispers.

“It’s okay,” Sebastián says, patient as ever. “I’ve got you. Move as slow or as fast as you want.”

Quinn waits for his ankles to stop wobbling, and worries for a second he’s going to completely drag Sebastián down with how hard he’s holding onto his hands— but then again, Sebastián is a giant. He takes a deep breath, then tries the smallest, _lightest_ push forward.

“There you go,” Sebastián says, with a grin. “See? You have good balance—”

But it’s like he accidentally jinxes him— because right then, Quinn glides forward a bit too quickly, and sees his own topple coming before it happens. “ _Oh_!” he shrieks, and falls forward— right into Sebastián’s waiting arms.

Sebastián laughs, as he catches him. “It’s okay, baby,” he says; his voice is distant, but there, as Quinn holds himself to his chest. “It’s okay. I’ve gotcha. I saw that coming.”

Quinn hides his face in his sweatshirt, fully aware of his lack of stability on his own two legs. “I am _not_ very confident in myself at the moment,” he tells him.

“That’s okay, _mi rey_. I promise. I’ve got you.” When he looks up, Sebastián is still smiling. He straightens Quinn’s scarf, which is considerate of him. Gently, he adds, “We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

This causes Quinn’s stomach to turn. It’s true that he was worried about this particular date, for selfish reasons— but his own inexperience shouldn’t mean they don’t do this. Sebastián was— is— clearly so excited, and Quinn doesn’t want to take that excitement away from him simply because he doesn’t know what he’s doing.

“No,” he says, and shakes his head, as firm as he can manage to be while he’s wrapped up in his arms. “No, I want to do this. I promise you.” He pulls himself out of the death grip, and— though he flails around a bit— manages to draw back until they’re just holding on by their hands again. Sebastián is poised to start moving backwards, but Quinn knows he’s good at that. He’s watched him skate enough to understand that this is his area of expertise. Sebastián is right— skating takes practice.

“Teach me how,” he says, and so Sebastián does.

Quinn wants to learn to be competent at this. Today is the first step.

He is, after all, a hockey player’s boyfriend.


	20. mémé's shopping day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Day 20 of 25, an introduction to Remy's grandmother! This one takes you back to Quebec City, for some Tremblay family content. Remy loves his mémé very much, but this is the first instance of her actually showing up. By the way, all the dialogue in this one— as well as in chapter 6 of this collection, which also takes place in Quebec— is actually being said in French.  
> [PROMPT: In which Remy takes his grandmother Christmas shopping, and they catch up on his college life.](https://sincerelyreidburke.tumblr.com/post/638056837026086912/day-20-back-to-quebec-city-in-which-remy-takes)

_ winter of Remy’s sophomore year _

_ december 2019 _

During school breaks, it never takes Remy very long to settle back into the routine of being at home.

After all, the routine of being at home was the only routine he really ever knew until he got to Kiersey. Sure, hockey seasons were always busy, and sometimes meant traveling a lot— but home was always home, until Kiersey was home. Or a second home. A home away from home, maybe. Either way, Remy knows home, knows his parents’ house. Summer and winter breaks are kind of relaxing, because of how familiar it is. His friends, the Kiersey library, and the ice at Meelia Arena may be hundreds of kilometers away— but so is the pressure to impress his professors, and his busy schedule, and, most of all, the stress of the NCAA. All there is in Quebec City is his cozy attic bedroom, his huge bookshelf, and his job at the crêperie.

So he knows this routine, and knows home. On work days, he gets up before the sun, takes his time getting ready, makes Mémé her daily cup of chamomile tea, and eats his breakfast. One cold Tuesday before Christmas, he’s stirring the honey into Mémé’s favorite teacup, by himself with her in the quiet kitchen, when she says, “Remy.”

He nods, and keeps stirring. “Are you alright, Mem?”

“I’m just fine,” she says, and pauses just a second before she asks, “When’s your next day off?”

“Thursday.” He pauses, and sets his stirring spoon into the sink. The cup of tea is steaming, and smells good. He turns and walks it to her, slowly, until he can set it down in front of her at the kitchen table. “Be careful,” he cautions. “It’s still too hot to drink.”

“Thank you.” Mémé smiles. She heeds his warning and doesn’t drink it, but she does wrap her bony hands around the cup, as if warming herself. It’s not that cold in the kitchen, but Remy worries suddenly that she might be cold anyway. She’s wearing a purple sweater; that should do some good.

He turns to the counter and takes a banana from the fruit bowl, then peels off the top of it. As he slices it into his bowl of oatmeal, he asks, “Why do you ask?”

Mémé replies, “Sorry?”

He looks over his shoulder; she still has her eyes on him. “I meant, why do you ask about my day off?”

“ _ Oh _ .” Recognition floods in her smile, as if she’s relieved to remember. “Well, I thought we should go shopping,” she says. Her words come out slowly, but he knows her pace, follows it easily. “I need to pick up presents for your parents, still. Do you have any shopping to do?”

“Uh… I don’t think so.” He shopped online for most of his friends, had things shipped to his mailbox at Kiersey so he could give them before they left campus for break. The only two friends he expected to see after exams but before Christmas are Kai and Dominique, who both live locally; he’s supposed to see them each before Christmas, so he’ll give their gifts then. And the only other people he shops for at all are Maman, Papa, and Mémé— who are all taken care of, so he’s in good shape as far as Christmas gifts go. He finishes cutting up his banana, then brings his oatmeal to the table and sits down next to Mémé. “Mem,” he says, “you know my parents don’t expect you to get them gifts, right?”

“Nonsense,” she replies, which is a typical Mémé answer. It’s true that Maman and Papa don’t expect presents from her, though; she’s eighty-one, and nobody expects her to do much at all anymore in the way of responsibilities or chores. She lives a quiet, happy life here, and Remy knows that, despite how much time he dedicates to worrying about her.

This morning, though, she seems to be rejecting the lack of responsibility thing. “You’re never too old to give Christmas presents,” she tells him, and places her hand on his arm. “Or to go shopping with your grandson.”

This is around when he realizes that the shopping thing may be more of a request than a suggestion. So he smiles, gently, and nods. “Where do you want to go?”

*

Thursday is his only whole day off until Christmas Eve, because the crêperie tends to get busy around the holidays, and Papa needs as many hands on deck as he can get. He gets up early, almost as if it were a work day, and talks on the phone with Kai for a little while in the morning before Mémé declares she’s ready to go out. “Be careful, please,” Maman urges, as Mémé is buttoning her coat by the door. Remy double checks his pockets, to be sure he has his wallet, his phone, and all the rest. He realizes, as Maman speaks, that she’s talking mostly to him. “It could be busy shopping.” Her voice gets a little lower when she adds, “Keep an eye on her, please.”

“I will,” he promises.

“I’m ready!” Mémé declares, finished with her coat. She’s all bundled up, even with earmuffs that match her favorite knit mittens, and she beckons for him. “Come on, Remy.”

He waves over his shoulder at Maman as they go. Once downstairs, he offers Mémé his arm— she’ll walk steadier that way— and she smiles up at him when they start down the sidewalk. It’s a brisk day, sunny but cold, and a good one for walking around as long as you’re dressed for it. “Well, isn’t this nice,” Mémé says, as they walk along. She takes a long breath, like the cold air is refreshing, and then tugs on his arm. “We’re going out on the town,” she declares, and her wrinkly smile widens. “I’m glad we could do this.”

“So am I,” he replies. It really is a nice day. He hopes the sun will stay out. Mémé deserves good weather. She deserves a good  _ day _ . “Where to first?”

*

Mémé hates malls and big department stores, but she likes the streets lined with small shops in Old Quebec; it’s not such a far walk from where they live. Remy takes her there first, and she leads them into a Christmas store she loves, where they sell decorations year round. “I’d like to buy your parents an ornament, for the tree,” she says, as they make their slow way down an aisle lined with nutcrackers and caroler figurines. “Or maybe you could use one?”

“Mem,” he says, as she breaks away from his side to test the lever on the back of a purple nutcracker. “You can’t buy me a present while I’m right here.”

“I can make you close your eyes,” she replies, with a bright, vaguely sneaky smile, and then sets the nutcracker back down while he chuckles. “I’m kidding, of course. I’ve already got you taken care of. It’s your parents I’m thinking of.” She stops in the middle of the small aisle and says, “I do love this little guy.”

Remy eyes the nutcracker. It looks hand-painted, and maybe hand-carved, too. “It’s pretty,” he tells her, and they keep walking along.

“Did you know,” Mémé says, in the next aisle, “that when I was a little girl, I played Clara in the ballet?”

“You mean  _ The Nutcracker _ ?”

“Yes!” She reaches for a ball ornament with a holly garland pattern circling it, and takes it carefully off the limb of a fake tree. “It was my brush with local fame.” The ball is made of glass, and it catches the multitudes of string lights in the store nicely. It’s Christmas in this store year round, sure, but given that it’s actually Christmastime right now, it feels extra festive. They have the holiday radio station playing, and a toy train is riding around the periphery of the room at the top of the shelves.

Mémé holds the holly ball up to dangle it for him and asks, “Isn’t this pretty?”

“Yeah, it’s nice,” he replies, but she hangs it back where she got it from, so apparently it’s not nice enough to buy. Half of shopping with Mémé is looking around. She even does it in the grocery store. Remy doesn’t mind.

“You should have seen my costume,” she says, as they round the corner. It takes Remy a second to realize they’re still talking about  _ The Nutcracker _ . “I think I might have a photo of it somewhere.” She squints, putting her finger to her chin, and then pats his elbow. “Remind me,” she says. “When we get home, I’ll go looking for it.”

“Alright,” he says. “I will.” As they walk past one of the store’s employees, a middle-aged lady with a reindeer antler headband, Mémé almost crashes into her. “Pardon me,” Remy says, even though it should be  _ pardon us _ . The lady gives them a friendly smile, and shakes her head, like she’s dismissing the apology. “Are you finding everything alright today?” she asks.

“We’re just looking,” he replies. “But thank you.”

“Of course!” The lady goes back to what she’s doing— she’s decorating one of the many fake trees, hanging little dog and cat ornaments all over it. There must be at least twenty trees in this small store, all in various sizes and decor schemes.

“Oh,  _ Remy _ , look at this one.” Mémé leaves his side again, to rush over to another tree— this one is white, and covered in pastel decorations. The ornaments are crowns, tutus, and ballet slippers, and it’s wrapped with a pink ribbon like a garland. “It’s a princess tree,” she sighs, with the fondest smile, and she touches one of the ballet slipper ornaments. “I love it; don’t you?”

“I like this crown.” He points so she can see— it’s more of a tiara than a crown, actually, but it’s silver, jeweled in lavender and blue rhinestones. “You should get a crown, Mem,” he says. “It’ll be fun. You can be the queen of the house.”

“Oh, please, Remy.” Mémé’s smile turns sneaky again. “I’m already the queen of the house.”

“That’s… true, actually.” He follows her as she circles the back of the pastel tree. Going out with Mémé— anywhere, not just shopping— kind of feels, at times, like supervising a rogue prisoner. She could escape at any second. “A crown would still be fun,” he adds.

“Oh!” She’s already moved onto something else, but this time, it’s an ornament on the wall, not on one of the trees. “Now, look at  _ this _ one,” she says, so he does. It’s another ball, but it has snowflakes painted on it in a nice pattern, with a few snowmen in the mix here and there. “This is just your parents’ style,” she declares.

He folds his arms, standing over her shoulder, and nods. “I do think they’d like that one.”

“Perfect.” Mémé brandishes the ball triumphantly, and he prays she doesn’t accidentally break it. It’s not that she’s clumsy, but her hands tremor naturally, most of the time. “Then it’s settled.”

He tips his head to the side. “You’re buying it?”

“Yes.” She holds her head high. “But I’m not done looking. Come with me; I want to see those carolers again.”

She grabs his arm again, and he laughs, then lets her lead the way.

*

They amass the following purchases from the row of small shops: the ornament Mémé picked out, and a set of new, red candles for Maman’s Christmas wreath, plus a new spatula and wooden spoon from Papa from Mémé’s favorite cooking store. At her direction, in a bath shop with all homemade soaps, Remy picks up some cranberry lotion for Maman ( _ it smells nice, Remy; she’ll like if you gave it to her _ ), and slips a second purchased bottle of it for Mémé into his pocket and out of her sight. At the end of the excursion, they circle back to the Christmas store, because Mémé ‘just can’t stop thinking about that dear little purple nutcracker.’

“It’ll look nice in my room,” she declares, when they leave the Christmas store for the second time today, nutcracker secured. “Don’t you think?”

He helps her down the store’s small step, then turns onto the sidewalk. “It’ll look great, Mem.”

“I think so, too.” She pauses. “You’ll help me wrap these things when we get home, won’t you?”

Remy nods. “Of course.”

Mémé smiles. “Good boy.”

They walk slowly, passing decorated storefront after storefront, and he lets them go in silence for a second before he asks, “Where do you want to go next?”

“Well, I’m hungry,” she says. “Why don’t we get something to eat? I’ll take you to lunch.”

“You don’t have to pay, Mem.” He pats his pocket. “I brought money.”

“Nonsense.” She smiles. “My treat.”

They wind up at one of their favorite small cafés, at a small window table that’s next to yet another fake Christmas tree. This one is plain green, with white lights and pinecones as ornaments. He lets Mémé take the seat closest to it, so she can admire it, and get a good view out the window, too. The window boxes on the outside of the building are stuffed with greens and berries.

They order a cup of soup each, and a sandwich to split, plus warm drinks. Remy eyes the menu while they wait for the food, and wonders if he can get away with getting a brownie after. While he’s reading the prices on desserts, Mémé places both hands on the table. “Remy,” she says. “Tell me. How are things at school?”

He looks up, and hesitates a second. Mémé is swirling her tea with a wooden stirrer. It’s chamomile, of course, but a different brand than the one they buy at home. “At school?” he echoes.

Mémé nods. She reaches forward until she can grasp his hand on the table, just for one squeeze, and pulls away as she says, “I miss you while you’re there. It’s good to have you home.”

A pang of guilt hits somewhere in his stomach. Leaving home is never exactly easy, even when he loves Kiersey so much. “I’m sorry, Mem,” he says, automatically.

“Don’t be,” Mémé replies, with a shake of her head. She smiles at him. “I’m very proud of you,” she says. “But tell me about it. You like it there, don’t you?”

“I love it,” he replies. “I really do. I can’t— I can’t believe it’s already been three semesters.”

“Mmm.” She nods again, like a wise old sage. He guesses she sort of is one. “Time goes quickly,” she says. “Are you still dating Kai?”

He can’t decide whether to laugh or frown. He doesn’t want to upset Mémé, but they’ve been over this before. He knows she’s just a little too old to understand, and on top of that, doesn’t always remember past conversations. “No, Mem. I never was. We’re just friends, remember?”

Mémé rests her cheek in her hand. “I like Kai.”

“I know.” It’s no secret to him  _ or _ to Kai that Mémé, in her allo-normative ways, very much wants them to be a couple. “I like xir, too.”

Mémé winks at him. He guesses she’s keeping the dream alive. Of all the people in the world, he’s fine with Mémé not understanding his sexuality. She’s eighty-one. “Maybe one day,” she sings, then sips her tea before she asks, “And hockey? How’s that?”

He hesitates for just a little too long, and even mirrors her to take a drink of his coffee before he attempts to answer that. “It’s good,” he says, finally, which it is. Hockey itself, as in the sport, is always good. He’s never stopped loving to play. “A little stressful, what with, uh, all the scouts and everything, but I’m still only a sophomore, so I’m trying to just focus on the game for now.”

“Do they want you to play professionally?” she asks.

His stomach knots up a little. If that isn’t the million-dollar question. “I’m not sure,” he confesses. “But I hear about it a lot, with coaches, and some of my teammates, and— yeah.” He takes a deep breath, and tries to make it a steady one. The last thing he wants is Mémé getting worried that he’s stressing himself out over hockey. “It’s good, though. It’s all good.”

She pauses, then meets his eyes. She’s still resting her cheek in her hand, with the other hand holding her tea. “Do you  _ want  _ to play professionally?”

Maybe  _ that’s _ the million-dollar question. He feels the knots in his stomach get tighter. There’s no good way to answer this without exposing how conflicted he is over all of it, and he can’t  _ lie _ to Mémé, wouldn’t feel right doing so. So he repeats himself. “I’m not sure.”

Mémé nods. She takes another sip. “It’s okay not to know what you want to do, Remy.”

_ Tell that to the coaches.  _ “I know.”

A server approaches, with their soups and sandwich on a small tray, so he lets their conversation pause while they get their food. His cup of soup— French onion, with a bunch of cheese, his favorite— smells delicious. He spoons into it eagerly; he hasn’t eaten since his morning oatmeal, which was hours ago.

And as Mémé starts eating, too, he tricks himself into thinking maybe the conversation is over. He splits the sandwich into its two halves, and places the bigger half on her plate while he takes the other for himself. It’s only then that she circles back. “Do you feel pressured, with hockey?”

The knots come back to his stomach, and he shrugs. “Only a little,” he says. “Normal levels of pressure, I think? It’s really not so bad.”

He hopes this is enough. Mémé nods, and stirs her soup. She got chicken noodle, and it smells just as good as his. He has no idea what compels him to do so, but all of a sudden, he feels the need to fill the quiet with more words. “It’s— not that I  _ dislike _ hockey, because I love it. It’s just— well, it’s just that I don’t know if I could see myself playing it my whole life, and not doing anything else. For work, that is.” He takes another deep breath, and rubs out the messy front of his hair. He speaks mostly to his soup, maybe because he’s afraid of Mémé’s reaction. “There’s, um— a program, that my history advisor mentioned to me. A graduate school program?” He swallows. “Some of the graduates from the Kiersey history department go on to get their master’s degree. Some even their PhD. It looks really interesting.”

_ Euh.  _ Way to word-vomit. He feels bad for Mémé, an unsuspecting victim of his internal confusion. When he looks up, though, Mémé looks interested, not taken aback. “A PhD?” she says. “Wouldn’t that be fancy.”

Remy laughs. “It sounds… really amazing, actually.” For a second, he’s completely lost in the daydream of reading, writing, and teaching for a living— but he shakes himself out. “I don’t know that I could get in, though.”

“I think you could,” Mémé says. She points to him with her spoon. “Have faith in yourself. That’s the first step.”

He laughs again, but this time it’s more of a chuckle. He lowers his head, and nods. “You’re right,” he says, then spoons up a heap of onion and cheese. It’s so delicious and warm. He loves this café, loves the way town looks at this time of year. This was a good way to spend his day off, even with the slightly stressful future-talk.

Which, by the way, Mémé doesn’t seem keen on ending anytime soon. “Tell me more about this program,” she says.

She’s his eighty-one-year-old grandmother. He can’t say no.

So he does. He spills his heart about graduate history programs, over a really good lunch. Somehow, when they finish, he feels better than before.

He even gets his brownie for dessert.


	21. early riser

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 21 of 25. You may be asking yourself how many different ways I can write “Quinn and Nando are in love but it’s festive,” and the answer is always at least one more time. But don’t feel too worried, because tomorrow’s content features a whole cast of characters, none of whom are Quinn, Nando, Ben, or Remy.  
> [PROMPT: It's junior year, Nando and Quinn's first Christmas morning in the same place. They're separated by two floors of the Hernandez household, but Nando is a stealthy person.](https://sincerelyreidburke.tumblr.com/post/638154927467806720/day-21-a-brief-christmas-morning-drabble-for)

_ winter break of Nando & Quinn’s junior year _

_ december 25th, 2020 _

For the third year in a row, Nando is the first person in his house to be awake on Christmas morning.

The first year was an accident. He woke up at six, on maybe four and a half hours’ sleep, and wasn’t able to get back to sleep, so he just got up instead, and waited for Mama and his sisters to join him. Christmas morning felt empty that year, with a big gap where Papa was supposed to be, and Nando knew no other remedy but to try to fill that gap— so that morning, alone on the ground floor of the house, he did all the things that Papa usually does on Christmas morning. He made a pot of coffee. He started on preparation for breakfast— churros for breakfast, a Hernandez family tradition, because all balanced Christmas Day diets begin with dessert. He turned the Christmas tree on, and he waited. It wasn’t the same— will never be the same again— without Papa. But Nando is the man of the house, has been for three years, and he knows how Christmas morning is supposed to go. So that first Christmas, that’s what he did. He did what Papa would have done.

The second year, he did the waking up thing on purpose, and this year, it’s the same. At 5:45, he wakes to a vibrating alarm on his phone under his pillow, carefully positioned there so that it’ll wake him up but keep the rest of the house asleep. It’s successful in that regard, and he rolls out of bed to place his feet lightly on the floor. Mama may be used to him being the first one up by now, but this year, he wants to be a little extra stealthy about it.

The world’s greatest Christmas present is in the basement, in the form of the boy using it as a guest bedroom, and Nando wants to be the first person he sees on Christmas morning.

So he leaves his own bedroom, and slips carefully down the stairs. The ground floor of the house is dark, with no light coming through the kitchen window, and he turns on the lights to the Christmas tree in the family room. They opened most of their gifts last night for Nochebuena, but Nando smiles as he notes that Santa has made their house a visit. There’s a small assortment of gifts in new wrapping paper under the tree, eight or maybe ten total, that he and Quinn helped Mama with once the twins got to bed late last night.

Nando is running on very, very limited sleep, but you always are the morning after Nochebuena. He moves in the kitchen quietly, and prays for no interruptions. He puts a pot of coffee on for himself and Mama, and takes out a few ingredients for breakfast, before he turns his attention to the basement door. It creaks a little, usually, and he hopes with all his being it won’t be enough to wake Mama.

He knows he’s not supposed to be alone with Quinn in any room that has a bed, at least not when everyone in the house is supposed to be sleeping. He also knows that, in general, Mama would not be a fan of what he’s about to do. But he and Quinn have broken every premarital rule in the book— don’t tell Mama— and it’s Christmas morning. His first Christmas morning in the same place as this boy, the love of his life, the one he wants to wake up every single Christmas with from now until forever.

So Nando takes his chances, and opens the basement door. It doesn’t creak. He smiles upward, and thanks God for the little bit of help, before he takes his very slow, careful time going down the stairs.

Quinn is asleep, or at least looks asleep. The only light in the basement comes from the mini Christmas tree on Quinn’s bedside table, a new addition this year, one Nando bought with him at Target two weeks ago that he’s been using as a night-light. Nando reaches the bottom of the stairs without incident, and tries to figure out if the lump on the pullout that is his boyfriend is conscious or not.

He can’t whisper, because Quinn won’t hear him. So instead, he walks just a little heavier on his feet, until he reaches the edge of the pullout. Quinn has this thing about feeling vibrations, and Nando thinks this might do the trick.

And— he’s right, he discovers in a moment. Because Quinn rolls over on the pullout, and in the dark, Nando can see him, a silhouette against the pillow. His hair is messy, and Nando can’t see him well enough to make out the expression on his face— but he doesn’t need to. Instead, he reaches down, and settles onto the edge of the mattress as he kisses Quinn’s forehead.

Quinn moves a little more, and then scoots to the side on the mattress, holding the sheets open. Nando takes the invitation, and crawls into bed next to him. It feels so good— so indescribably good— to wrap him up in his arms. Under Mama’s watchful eye, they haven’t gotten a moment alone to cuddle in what feels like  _ way _ too long.

Nando grabs Quinn’s hand, and holds it to his own mouth, like maybe that’ll give him a fighting chance of being understood when he whispers, “Merry Christmas, baby.”

Quinn says nothing, but does kiss him, and they roll over into a better, more comfortable position, and Nando knows that’s a response all in itself. By the light of the tiny tree, in this basement hideaway, Nando snuggles him awake, and kisses him, and holds him tight. This is the first of many, many Christmas mornings they’ll spend like this, and Nando isn’t sure he’s had a better one.

This was worth the 5:45 alarm, and better than anything under the tree.


	22. hohohoedown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For day 22 of 25, I promised you some content featuring a bunch of characters who aren’t my main characters, and here we are. I wrote today’s fic for a fun secret Santa-style gift exchange among a few of my friends from here/the Kiersey discord. Featuring all the Reid Burke content your heart could ever desire. Plus Awkward Freshman Cole, the beginnings of his relationship with Claire, and also Reid’s rommates who I love and cherish.  
> [PROMPT: Set the school year before our main characters come to town, Reid and his roommates throw a raging holiday party.](https://sincerelyreidburke.tumblr.com/post/638244100710252544/day-22-a-party-reid-burke-style-friends-i)

_ the 2017-18 school year  _ |  _ december _

_ \- cole’s freshman year _

_ \- claire’s sophomore year _

_ \- reid’s junior year _

_ Group: Reid Burke, Cole Kolinsky, Claire Deshaies, Jhiron Hassan, Ellie O’Reilly, Jacob Reisman, Eli Fisher, Brianna Cameron + 18 others _

_ 12/4/17, 8:21 PM _

_ Reid Burke created this group _

_ Reid Burke changed the group name to #HoHoHoedownAtDuff3 _

_ Reid Burke: WHATS UP PARTY PEOPLE!!! _

_ Jhiron Hassan: reid i ahte you _

_ Jhiron Hassan: why am i in this group _

_ Jhiron Hassan: i lierltly live here _

_ Reid Burke: I lierltly don’t care _

_ Jhiron Hassan: 🖕🏿 _

_ Reid Burke: Everyone in our apt is in this chat _

_ Jacob Reisman: Hi reid _

_ Eli Fisher: hi reid _

_ Reid Burke: Hi jake and eli 💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜 _

_ Reid Burke: Okay, anyway _

_ Reid Burke: Happy Monday everybody. This is your formal invitation to campus’ best holiday party, happening this Saturday night at 8pm in Duffy Hall apartment 3. We welcome those celebrating all holidays at this party, most of all Festivus. Holiday attire is recommended. There will be karaoke and food. Jhiron will be serving his famous Swedish meatballs and peas. _

_ Jhiron Hassan: that last part is fkae _

_ Jhiron Hassan: fake* _

_ Jhiron Hassan: im not mkaing no nasty swedish meatbsls _

_ Reid Burke: See, this is why I added you to the chat. You can defend your honor _

_ Eli Fisher: i’ll be there _

_ Eli Fisher: 💚 you reid _

_ Reid Burke: I love you too eli _

_ Ellie O’Reilly: the girls and i will be in attendance _

_ Reid Burke: Define ‘the girls’? _

_ Ellie O’Reilly: claire and fiona _

_ Reid Burke: NICE _

_ Brianna Cameron: Idk if I can make it. I have so much studying to do… and I heard the guys in Duff 3 are kind of weird. :/// _

_ Jhiron Hassan: i aslo heard that abuot them _

_ Jacob Reisman: Same _

_ Jazmine Lewis: So did I… _

_ Reid Burke: Very sad. I hope the haters will still be able to make it _

_ Jhiron Hassan: idk i also hvae a lotof hwomrk _

_ Daniel Cho: See you guys there! _

_ Daniel Cho: But only if Jake makes latkes again _

_ Jacob Resiman: As if I wouldn’t _

_ Daniel Cho: YES! _

_ Reid Burke: Danny marry me challenge _

_ Jazmine Lewis: Bri, please get your man under control _

_ Brianna Cameron: I can’t. This is what happens when you let him create a group chat with 25 people in it. He’s unhinged _

_ Reid Burke: :D _

*

_ iMessage _

_ 12/6/17, 6:12 PM _

_ Reid Burke: Hey dude! _

_ Reid Burke: I know there are a ton of people in that group chat, so I might have missed if you said something, but can you make it to the party at my apartment this weekend? _

_ Cole Kolinsky: oh! i think so _

_ Cole Kolinsky: im sorry i didn’t respond in the chat _

_ Reid Burke: Nooooo don’t be sorry _

_ Reid Burke: Like I said, there’s a ton of people… it’s chaotic _

_ Reid Burke: I love it but lol _

_ Cole Kolinsky: yeah hahaha _

_ Reid Burke: But you can make it!! _

_ Cole Kolinsky: yeah i’ll be there! _

_ Reid Burke: AWESOME _

_ Cole Kolinsky: thank you for inviting me _

_ Reid Burke: Don’t thank me! _

_ Reid Burke: You’re my pet frosh, of course you’re invited _

_ Cole Kolinsky: hahahah _

_ Cole Kolinsky: i don’t think i have any holiday clothes though _

_ Reid Burke: Don’t worry about it! _

_ Reid Burke: Actually, do you want to borrow one of Jake’s Hanukkah sweaters? _

_ Reid Burke: I can give it to you at the drama club meeting tomorrow _

_ Cole Kolinsky: hahaha _

_ Cole Kolinsky: umm _

_ Cole Kolinsky: i guess only if he wants to? _

_ Reid Burke: He’s always down to spread the Hanukkah cheer _

_ Reid Burke: Plus, he already has an outfit _

*

_ saturday, december 9th _

“No, it’s just— I don’t know, Mom. I’m just— I don’t feel well.”

Cole rocks back and forth, cross-legged on his bed. He holds his phone tight to his ear, and closes his eyes— though it’s not like that makes much of a difference, since it’s dark out, and the lights are off in his dorm room. Maybe he does it to hide— like closing his eyes will make the world, and its stress, disappear entirely.

“Well, what do you mean?” Mom asks, a tinny voice through the phone line, his lifeline to a chance at calm. “Do you think you’re sick?”

“No— no, not like that.” Cole shakes his head, and pulls at his bangs.  _ Just breathe.  _ Instead of the thumping in his chest, he tries to focus on something else— like the fact that he needs a haircut. He’ll be able to get Mom to do it, when he gets home after finals next week. “I’m just— I don’t know if this party is a good idea,” he tells Mom. “I’m really nervous.”

“Why are you nervous?” Mom sounds concerned, but not overly so. She’s a good voice of reason, always helpful in talking things out. He calls her a lot, since coming to college. He hopes it doesn’t bother her.

“It’s just…” He opens his eyes, and hunts for an answer. He can’t pinpoint exactly what started this anxiety; he only knows that it’s here, in full force. “Parties?” he says. “They’re not really my thing, but I’d feel bad  _ not _ going, ‘cause Reid texted me specifically to ask if I was going—”

“Well, that was really nice of him,” Mom says. “It sounds like he wants you to come.”

“He does,” Cole says, and winces at his own guilt. Reid has been nothing but nice to him. He shouldn’t be  _ nervous _ to go to this party. It won’t even be his first party at Reid’s apartment. “And you’re right. That  _ is _ nice of him.”

“So what’s wrong, bug?” Mom says. “It sounds like you’re just circling.”

“I know.” He takes a handful of the sweater he’s wearing, and crushes the wool into his fist. Jake Reisman wears one size bigger than him, so he had to tuck it in a little at the front of his ripped jeans. Reid wasn’t lying about the Hanukkah cheer— the thing is patterned all over in blue and white, with little dreidels, gelt coins, and stars of David mixed into the print. “I think you’re right. I just— I’m nervous. Like— I looked through the people in the group chat? There’s only one other freshman invited.”

“Who’s the other freshman?”

“Ezra, from drama club.” He pauses for a deep breath. “I know Ezra; they’re nice, but I still feel like— I dunno, like I’m intruding on an upperclassman event because Reid feels bad for me?”

“I don’t think he invited you because he feels  _ bad _ for you, bug,” Mom replies. “I think he invited you because you’re his friend, and he wants you to be there.”

Cole releases the handful of sweater, and tucks it back in front of his belt buckle. “I know,” he breathes. “I know. You’re— yeah. You’re probably right.”

“Hey, take a deep breath,” she urges. “You’re okay.”

He tries to heed her advice. He tries to be okay. Really, he’s fine. He  _ will _ be fine, once he gets to Reid’s apartment. Getting there is always the hardest part, with anxiety over events like this.

“Sorry,” he says, once he’s breathing normally again. He looks down at his Docs. Wearing his shoes on his bed probably isn’t the greatest idea, but whatever. He’s done it before. “Sorry. I’m okay. I’m gonna go to it, I just— need to calm down.”

“What time do you need to be there?” Mom asks.

“Eight.” He feels around his blankets for his phone, but then finds it in his pocket. It’s 6:42. “I should probably, uh— eat before I go.”

“You should definitely eat,” Mom says. “You haven’t eaten?”

“No.” He hangs his head. “But— I will. Uh, promise. I’ll get something from the café before I go.”

“Good. Make sure you eat.” This makes him feel more guilty. He’s skipped meals by accident more times this semester than he’d like to admit to her. “And when you get there, have fun, okay? Text me how it’s going if you want. You can even call me. I’ll be around all night.”

Cole sighs. “Thanks, Mom.” It’s going to take an early Hanukkah miracle to get him through this party without freaking out internally. He just hopes he can keep it under control enough not to act cringeworthy.

Which is easier said than done.

“I’m serious,” Mom says. “I’ll be around, okay? Have fun. And be safe.”

“I will.” He holds his phone close to his cheek, and way tighter in his hands than he needs to. “Love you.”

“I love you, too.”

When the call disconnects, he’s alone in his dark room again, with over an hour left to kill.

He might as well order dinner while he waits.

*

Reid is pleased with himself.

Actually, that may be an understatement. He prides himself a lot in planning social events at Duffy Hall, Apartment 3, but the holiday party is the crown jewel of the semester. This year is an upgrade— where he attended parties at friends’ apartments freshman and sophomore year, this is the year he finally gets to  _ host _ things, to welcome friends into his  _ own _ apartment, to set the Kiersey campus standard for fun. On top of  _ that _ , Reid loves the holidays. Goes fucking crazy for them. It was only natural that the role of holiday party host fell onto him, out of Duff 3’s four residents.

In fact, he aims to make this  _ more  _ than a holiday party. Tonight isn’t a party, but an  _ experience _ .

Reid is ready thirty minutes before the general public are scheduled to start arriving. He sits on the couch, next to the fake Christmas tree in the common area, and drinks a ginger ale while he admires his hard work. The place is decked out with tinsel and lights, and a bunch of paper snowflakes Bri made are taped in the windows. Jake is in the kitchenette, making latke magic. Jhiron is on the opposite couch. Eli is still in his room, but already has music playing, through the speaker he keeps in the living room.

This place is ready to rock.

“Cheers, Jhi,” he says, waving his ginger ale can in the air. “You’re looking mighty fine over there.”

Jhiron pushes his glasses up with his middle finger. “Fuck off,” he says. “I already know I look good.”

Reid laughs. “I love a man aware of his own assets.”

Jhiron rolls his eyes, and pulls his phone out of his suit jacket. “How are you completely sober and already annoying.”

“I’m always annoying,” he replies. “And I know you love me, so don’t even lie.”

Jhiron sighs, and looks at his phone. Reid winks at him across the room, but isn’t sure he sees him. That’s okay. It’s the thought that counts.

The song on Eli’s speaker changes over— he has this interesting mix of all kinds of holiday music going on, mostly secular Christmas stuff with the odd Hanukkah thing thrown in here and there. If there’s one thing Eli knows how to do, it’s make a party playlist. Each resident of Duffy Hall, Apartment 3 has a different strength, when it comes to planning social events, something they’ve learned very well over the course of this first semester in the apartment. Jake is good at snacks and drinks, even outside of latke season. Eli does the music. Jhiron keeps things chill and under control, so everyone can have fun without having  _ too _ much fun and winding up written up by RA Jack. And Reid… well, he prides himself in being the group’s biggest social butterfly.

So their skills work well combined, for parties.

Reid loves his friends.

He leaves the couch, and takes the last sip in his can of ginger ale before he walks to Jhiron to pat his shoulder. Jhiron could not be more done with his shit right now, and Reid lives for it. “I love you, bitch,” he tells him, with all the adoration he can summon.

Jhiron closes his eyes, as if searching for inner zen. “I tolerate you.”

“Awwww.” Reid holds his hand to his cheek. “Well, if that isn’t the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” He pats his shoulder one more time, then turns and crosses the living room, dropping his can in the trash on the way to visit Jake in the kitchenette. He has his suit jacket hung over the back of a chair at the counter, and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, because he’s forearm-deep in latke ingredients. “How’s the deep-fried Judaism, Jakey?”

“Well, it’s coming,” Jake replies, leaning all the way into his grater with a huge russet potato. “But it’s not exactly deep-fried yet.”

Reid hugs him from behind. “I love a man who’s good in the kitchen.”

Jake swats his hands away, and he jumps back only because he wants to avoid getting potato guts all over his  _ own  _ clothes. “You’re a curse on society, Reid.”

“I know.” Reid stands next to him instead of behind, and blows him a kiss. “What can I say? It’s one of my many assets.” Jake chuckles as he grates, and Reid ruffles his dark, curly hair. “You look like a nice Jewish boy,” he tells him. “I’d introduce you to my mom.”

Jake waves his potato at him like a weapon. “You’re an asshole.”

“Ooh, yum.” He pokes the butt-end of it, the part that hasn’t been grated. “Raw potato. My favorite.”

_ Knock, knock _ . Reid glances to the door, and pauses his Jake-harassment to arch an eyebrow at Jhiron across the room. “Is it eight already?”

“No, stupid ass,” Jhiron replies. “It’s Jaz and Bri.”

“ _ Ohhh _ .” Reid kind of  _ does _ deserve to be called a stupid ass for that one, because he knew full well that Bri and Jazzy were going to be here early. “I’ll get it,” he announces, which is largely unhelpful in that he’s already halfway to the door, and would be the obvious choice to answer it to begin with. He swings the door wide open and sings, “Hell- _ oooo _ , ladies!”— and then immediately has to take a moment, because  _ hot damn _ . Bri looks good. “ _ Wow _ ! We’re looking extremely festive and stylish on this fine evening.”

“Hey, Reid,” Jazzy replies. She looks him up and down bemusedly, and remarks, “Nice suit.”

“Thank you, Jazzy,” he says, and lets them in. He greets Bri with a squeeze around the waist, and makes a mental note to tell her how good she looks the second they get an ounce of privacy. He’s wondering if he should just say something  _ now _ , but before he can, Bri herself is reacting— because she can now see him, Jhiron,  _ and _ Jake, and their corresponding wardrobe choices.

“Oh, my gosh,” she laughs, and puts a hand over her mouth as she looks between the three of them. “You guys look  _ awesome _ .”

Reid tugs at his printed tie, and grins to both of the girls, but mostly Bri. “We wanted to dress for the occasion.”

Jazzy is laughing, too, and she waves to Jhiron. “Babe,” she says, “if I knew you were wearing purple, I woulda matched!”

Jhiron shrugs. He points to part of the Kwanzaa pattern on his suit jacket and replies, “There’s red in here.” Which there is, so he kind of matches with Jazzy, whose dress is plain red. For Reid himself and Bri, all matching bets are off. She’s wearing a non-ugly ugly sweater-dress, white with red and green patterning all over it. His suit is red, but that’s right about where the similarities end, since he has a bunch of gingerbread men, snowmen, and candy canes on his person.

“Eli has one, too,” he tells Bri and Jazzy, then calls over his shoulder. “ _ Eli _ ! Get your sexy ass out here!”

“Coming,” Eli calls from somewhere distant in his and Jake’s room, and while they wait, Reid continues, “Jake’s jacket is off, but it matches his pants.”

Bri still looks so entirely entertained. Reid lives for this. “Where did you  _ get  _ these?”

“Where all fashion abominations come from,” Jake says, without turning away from his grater. “The Internet.”

Eli dashes out of his room and into sight right at that moment, and that completes the set. He’s in green, with a vaguely Christmas-y plaid pattern on his jacket and pants, and he spins around on his heel, then gives the girls a thumbs-up. “Hey, guys.”

“This is the best thing I’ve ever seen,” Bri says, while Jazzy doubles over. Jazzy Lewis walks around this campus like a businesswoman ready to end someone’s career, so seeing her laughing her ass off at some printed holiday suits is mildly entertaining.

“ _ Eli _ !” Jazzy cries. “You’re the man!”

“I need to document this,” Bri says, and pulls her phone out of nowhere. “Can you guys get together?”

“We most definitely can,” Reid replies, and bounds over to stand in front of the tree. “Jakey, get your jacket!”

“I’m  _ busy _ ,” Jake says.

“C’monnnnn,” Eli tells him. “It’s just one picture.”

Jake lets off a very dramatic sigh, then stops grating, rinses his hands, and slings his jacket off the chair to put it on. “There we go,” Reid says, as they gather in a line of four. He tosses one arm around Eli and the other around Jhiron. “Whole gang’s together.” He can’t stop grinning. They kept the suits a secret from everyone who lives outside of this apartment, which was hard when Bri started asking him what he was going to wear for the party— but is most definitely paying off. He can’t wait to see other people’s reactions. And also to post these pictures.

“Say hoedown!” he tells the guys, as they pose for Bri’s and Jazzy’s phones.

“Say ‘Reid is a pain in the ass’,” Jake suggests instead.

Bri laughs. “This is amazing.” She’s the world’s cutest photographer, but Reid might be biased. “I love you guys.”

It’s going to be a very good night.

*

While she’s getting ready, Claire keeps going back and forth between two skirts. In the end, she decides on the green one. It swishes and sways underneath her while she walks across campus with Ellie and Fiona, and she’s satisfied with her decision. It even matches her elf hat, which matches her two friends’ hats.

“You know, Claire bear,” Ellie says, as they’re going, all keeping a brisk pace to try and outrun the cold, “tonight could be a real opportunity for you.”

“Huh?” Claire rubs her forearm— she should have worn a coat, but was worried about not knowing where to hang it in Reid’s apartment. “What do you mean?”

“Well, y’know, like…” Ellie shrugs, and gestures broadly, like the spread of campus around them will explain it for her. “A social opportunity. All those people in one place.”

Claire laughs a little. “Yeah, don’t remind me.” She likes socializing, and seeing friends, but small groups have always been more her thing than big parties.

“I don’t mean that.” Ellie elbows her, and raises her eyebrows. “I  _ mean _ that this could be the perfect opportunity to expand your dating pool.”

Claire sighs, and can see her breath when she does. “Not everything is about dating, El.”

“I never said it was!” Ellie cries. She turns to Fiona. “Back me up here. Don’t you think there will be eligible bachelors at this party?”

“Since when did you care about eligible bachelors?” Fiona says, and Claire laughs into her hand while Ellie huffs.

“You two are impossible,” Ellie remarks. She slides her hands into her pockets.  _ She _ was smart enough to wear a jacket. “I just think that, with the semester ending, now’s a perfect time for Claire to get her cards back in the dating game. If she so chooses.”

“I dunno, El.” Claire is mostly neutral to this idea. Her last dating experience didn’t end well— when they ended their nine-month relationship in September, Mike asked if they could still be friends, but since then, he’s been giving her the silent treatment whenever he sees her, so she guesses he changed his mind about that at some point. The only brush with dating she’s had since then was Brandon from the hockey team, who led her on for two weeks before deciding to so graciously clue her in about his girlfriend back home in Boston. Because of course. Just her luck.

So she’s not sure about tonight. Maybe she’ll get her ‘cards’ back into the ‘dating game,’ as Ellie puts it. Or maybe she won’t. She continues not to be sure, even when the conversation ends, all through walking across campus and arriving at Duffy Hall. The only thing she knows she’s prepared to do tonight is have fun, with her friends— and all of that stays the same, right up until she runs into Eli Fisher.

Eli Fisher is cute in a casual way— he’s not a ‘cool’ or popular guy, so he doesn’t have girls flocking to him 24/7; he flies under the radar. Claire knows him through Reid, mostly, but he’s the rehearsal and pit pianist for spring musicals with the drama club, and she’s seen him perform with the Kiersey jazz band. He’s insanely talented— which is part of what makes him cute. Tonight, he’s wearing a suit in green, holiday plaid, and he’s only intimidating for a second. “Claire, hey!” He smiles and waves, and meets her in front of the Christmas tree. “How’s it going?”

“I’m admiring the suits,” she replies, and he laughs. He tugs at his tie, which matches the plaid. Claire has already seen Reid and Jake, and is starting to understand the pattern. “Is Jhiron also in one?”

“Yeah, he’s poking around here somewhere.” Eli scans the room, but if he’s looking for Jhiron among the partygoers, he comes up short, and shrugs. “You’ll probably see him. But anyway, hi!”

“Hi.” She feels remarkably confident, which should be more concerning than it is in the moment. “This is a great party,” she tells him, since, as a resident of this apartment, he probably had some hand in planning it. In fact, she can wager a guess as to what his role was. “Let me guess… you were in charge of the music?”

“Wow.” Eli shakes his head. “You’ve discovered me. My secret DJ identity is blown.”

She laughs, and tugs at a piece of her hair under her hat. “I may have been using context clues.”

“Hey, so speaking of music!” Eli is often ‘speaking of music.’ Most of the conversations she’s had with him have been about it. He lights up when he talks about it; she’d be lying if she didn’t say that was cute. “I have a question for you.”

She tries to casually lean on the wall, but overshoots it a little, and kind of stumbles. “Go for it,” she says, when she recovers, and thanks God that he doesn’t laugh at her.

Eli leans against the wall, too, but he does it naturally, without incident. “Are you auditioning for  _ Book of Mormon _ ?”

“I haven’t decided,” she replies, truthfully. She had a blast in  _ Hairspray _ last spring, but she’s familiar enough with  _ The Book of Mormon _ and its roles to know she probably wouldn’t get cast if she auditioned. They need a lot of guys this year. “But, uh— why do you ask?”

Eli has a bridge of freckles across his nose. Claire is trying really hard to focus on what he’s saying, instead of that. “Well, I’m not trying to sway you,” he says, “but if you decide not to, we’d love to have you in pit. The director wants more students to participate, so I’m, like, trying to get the word out.”

“Oh!” Playing in the pit was actually not something that had crossed her mind. She isn’t sure if it’s because of Eli or because it sounds fun— or maybe it’s both— but she signs herself up without thinking. “Uh, actually, I’d love to do that. If you’d have me? Don’t you have to try out?”

“I mean, technically, yeah,” Eli says, “at least for your first time. But don’t worry.” He gives her a cheeky grin, and leans over to stage-whisper, “I have an in with the director.”

“Wow, impressive,” she says, and cannot believe how smooth she’s managing to be in this conversation. “I won’t report you for trying to get under-qualified students into the pit.”

“Hey, you’re qualified!” he insists. “I’ve heard you play at the chamber music concerts. There’s nothing under-qualified about that.”

She raises an eyebrow at him. “I thought the only people who actually go to our concerts are faculty members.”

“Claire, I literally live in the Beckett Center,” Eli says. “I’m the all-seeing eye in there.”

“Oh, interesting.” She gestures around the apartment. “I thought you lived here.”

Eli laughs, and she feels a swell of pride somewhere. “Actually, I sleep on the piano in Beck 1C. Jake evicted me for playing the Stevie Wonder Christmas album.”

“What’s wrong with the Stevie Wonder Christmas album?” she asks.

Eli throws his hands in the air. “That’s what I said!” he cries, and she laughs. It’s not that Eli has ever exactly been on her radar, but standing next to this fake Christmas tree with him, she’s starting to wonder if maybe Ellie was right about the opportunities.

*

When Cole gets to apartment 3 in Duffy Hall, the party is already in full swing.

He slips through the door and into the modest-sized crowd, and tries so,  _ so  _ hard not to get completely overwhelmed by it right away. There aren’t  _ that _ many people here, but there are also probably more than should be able to fit in a small campus apartment. The music is kind of loud; right now, the Linus and Lucy song from Charlie Brown is playing. Which is kind of a funny song to play at a party, but Eli was probably in charge of the music. And it’s not like Cole knows a lot about what does and doesn’t constitute good party music.

It smells like Hanukkah in the apartment, which is kind of weird until he remembers Reid texting about Jake making latkes. He slides to the side of the room right away, making his careful way through partygoers, most of whom he recognizes from drama club stuff or other, former parties Reid has invited him to this semester. He almost crashes into Zélie Haruna, a senior on the drama club board, and spends a solid twenty seconds apologizing to her before he shrinks away in shame to nurse the blush in his face. He can’t find Reid anywhere, and the closest he gets to seeing a friend is passing Ellie and Fiona, drama club sophomores in elf hats, who wave and are friendly to him but don’t start a conversation. The sight of the two of them gives him a twinge of anxiety— because he saw Ellie’s text in the group chat, that she’d be here with her friends, and he knows that Claire Deshaies is Ellie’s best friend. Which means that Claire is probably in this room somewhere. And that’s entirely too much for Cole’s anxious self to handle right now.

He reaches the far end of the apartment, and when he finally,  _ finally _ sees someone he can talk to in the form of Ezra by the wall, a tangible sensation of relief passes through his body. They’re wearing a black jean jacket over a sweater, but not a holiday one. He waves to them from a few feet off, and they wave back. “Hey, Cole.”

“Hey.” Cole tries to shake his nerves off, and stands next to Ezra against the wall. He isn’t  _ super _ close with them, but can at least say that the two of them have something in common at this party— being the only freshmen, that is. “I feel so awkward,” he confesses. “I can’t find Reid anywhere.”

Ezra points to another corner of the room, and Cole tries to follow the direction of their arm, but can’t spot Reid in the crowd. “He’s over there,” Ezra says. “With Bri and Danny Cho.”

“Oh,” Cole says, like he sees them, even though he doesn’t. He slides both hands into his pockets, and tries a deep breath. “I, uh— I feel like I shouldn’t have come to this.”

“Why?” Ezra asks. For their part, they look totally chill. Then again, Cole isn’t sure he’s ever seen Ezra not look chill. It’s sort of just their demeanor. “I think it’s kinda cool that we’re the only freshmen here.”

“Ha.” Cole forces the laugh out, and cringes internally at himself. “I mean, uh— yeah, that is cool.”

Ezra pushes their dark hair back from their face. They have the queerest haircut Cole has ever seen. “Are you okay?” they ask, and Cole is grateful for that question, but so embarrassed that he caused it, at the same time. Because if Ezra is asking if he’s okay, it means he doesn’t seem okay. Which means he’s failing at seeming calm, and cool, and all the things you should be at a party.

“Uh, I— yeah, I’m fine, yeah.” He straightens his back against the wall, and fixes his own hair, too. He’s positive he doesn’t look nearly as chill doing so as Ezra does. “Uh. Why do you ask?”

He regrets that question as soon as it leaves his mouth. He doesn’t want to know the answer. Ezra gives it anyway. “You just seem kind of uncomfortable,” they say. It’s matter-of-fact, and definitely not meant as a callout, but it worsens Cole’s mortification.

“I’m not,” he blurts, right away, and scrambles to keep covering for himself. “I’m okay. I’m, uh— like, I think it’s because I just got here.”

“Yeah, that makes sense.” He can’t tell, based on Ezra’s expression, whether or not they believe that he’s actually okay. But he doesn’t have time to figure it out, because before he can, the loud, familiar voice of an approaching Reid cuts through the party noise.

“ _ Cole _ !  _ Ez _ ! My freshmen!” Reid weaves his way through friends, and swoops in on their wall spot, spreading his arms wide. “I’m so glad you guys made it!”

“Hey, Reid.” Ezra does a little salute with two fingers, and Cole manages to give him the world’s most awkward wave.

“Coley, I love the sweater,” Reid says, with a wide grin. “You might have to steal it from Jake.”

“Uh.” Cole looks down at himself. He feels like he looks a little stupid, but at least the sweater is baggy. “I don’t know if Jake would like that.”

“Nice suit,” Ezra remarks, of Reid’s getup, which is the much more noteworthy thing being worn among people in this conversation. Reid’s suit, complete with a matching tie, is bright red and Christmas-printed.

“Thank you.” Reid opens his jacket, with the hand that’s not holding a drink. It’s only after seeing this that Cole realizes he saw Jhiron a few minutes ago, in something similar, except it was purple, with Kwanzaa stuff in its print.

“Is it, like, a thing?” he asks Reid, which is maybe the stupidest and vaguest question he’s asked about anything in awhile.

And yet somehow, Reid understands what he means. “What, the suits?” he asks, and when Cole nods, he says, “Yeah! Did you see the other guys?”

“I saw Jhiron.” Cole can still see him, actually. He’s with his girlfriend— Jazmine, Cole is pretty sure her name is. “They’re, uh— they’re cool. The suits, I mean.”

“Thanks.” Reid takes a drink of whatever’s in his cup, then beckons, like he wants him to follow him back into the crowd. “Coley, do you want a latke? They’re hot and ready, but they won’t last long.”

Cole could literally never say no to that offer. “Uh— yeah, definitely.” As daunting as the crowd is, he follows Reid to start back through it.

*

Jake’s latkes are incredible. Reid, admittedly, is not a latke expert, but this is his third year getting to have them at school, and the experience is so fucking incredible that it’s almost enough to make a person want to convert to Judaism.

“Oh, wow,” says Cole, AKA Reid’s certified favorite freshman, when he tries one over at the kitchenette counter. He nods, as he’s chewing, and then gives Jake a thumbs-up. “These are so good.”

“I told you, Coley.” Reid hops up to sit on the counter, or at least tries to, because Jake gives him a death stare as soon as he’s comfortable up there.

“Can you not put your ass on my cooking space?” he asks.

“You’re done cooking,” Reid tells him, and rolls his eyes, but gets off the counter anyway.

“Jake makes these every year,” Bri is telling Cole. She, too, has a latke in-hand, and her wine spritzer thing in the other. The essentials. She looks good in all the party mood lighting. “You should’ve seen last year in their sophomore dorm. The platter was gone in, like, five minutes.”

“I believe that,” Cole replies. “My mom, uh— my mom does them for just me, her, and my grandfather, and we  _ still _ kill a whole batch.”

Bri laughs. “I can understand why.”

“Hey, nice sweater,, by the way” Jake tells Cole, and Cole goes  _ bright _ red, as he looks down at himself.

“Uh,” he says, and tugs on the hem of it. “Thanks for letting me borrow it.” He’s just as red when he looks up, and adds, hastily, “I’ll wash it before I give it back.”

Jake grins. “It’s no big deal, dude. I’d trust you not to destroy it.”

Reid can almost  _ see _ Cole’s anxiety, maybe not about this specific conversation but just persistent about his whole person at the moment. He feels kind of guilty, that Cole is stressed-out. Cole is always awkward, because that’s just the way he is, but Reid still wonders if he’s invited him into an environment that’s worsened the anxiety for him. He really did want him here; he  _ is _ his favorite freshman, and they’ve become good friends this semester. He didn’t want to stress him out.

Then again, Cole has been like this at every party Reid has seen him at, so maybe this is just Party Cole. And he seems pretty content with the latkes. Reid watches him go for another one, and top it with a spoonful of applesauce from the jar Jake put out on the counter.

Reid tosses an arm around Bri, and she bumps against his hip. “Hey,” she says, with a smile up at him.

He kisses her, quickly, and lifts his drink as he pulls away. “Hey,” he replies, and shakes his cup a little. “Cheers.”

She toasts her drink against his. “Cheers,” she echoes, and right around then, the song changes on Eli’s speaker— Paul McCartney and friends fade out on “Wonderful Christmas Time,” and usher in the opening of Stevie Wonder. Reid bops to the beat, and when the vocals come in, he joins Stevie. “ _ Candles burning low, lots of mistletoe… _ .”

“Oh my fuck,” Jake yells, whirling around from his latke station. “ _ Eli _ ! Your music is trash!”

“No, it’s not!” comes Eli’s voice from somewhere near the Christmas tree. “It’s not my fault I have taste!”

Reid laughs, as he spots Eli himself in the crowd. He’s hanging out with Claire, or at least talking to her, but he stops whatever he’s doing to flip Jake off across the room. “Get mad!” he taunts. “Get angry!”

Jake rolls his eyes, and turns away again. The exchange is entertaining, and Reid is about to start singing to Jake— but before he does, he spots the look on Cole’s face, and it’s reason for pause. Cole is looking right across the room to where Eli is, and he’s blushing again, with his eyes locked on something. At first, Reid can’t tell what he’s looking at. Then he follows Cole’s line of sight… directly to miss Claire Deshaies.

He looks from Cole, to Claire, then back to Claire. There’s no mistaking that look on a guy’s face. Or anyone’s face.

Someone’s got a  _ cruuuuush _ .

Oh, this is going to be  _ fun _ .

“Hey,” he says, careful to stir the pot  _ juuuust _ gently. “Cole.”

Cole snaps out of his trance, and there’s fear in his eyes when Reid meets his gaze, which he wants to laugh at, but won’t until he digs a little more. “Wha— sorry. What?”

“What are you looking at?” Reid grins a little, and eyes Claire, as he walks up to Cole. She’s wearing a fun, green Christmas skirt, and an elf hat in the same color.

“Uh, nothing,” Cole says. He fixes his glasses, and fidgets with the hem of Jake’s sweater. But he can’t hide his lingering blush. “I was just— zoning out.”

“You sure?” He puts his hands on Cole’s shoulders from behind, and nods in her direction. “Because  _ I _ think you just noticed that Claire is here.”

“What?” Cole’s attempt at sounding casual is fucking  _ priceless _ . He shakes his head, way too rapidly for a truthful denial, and says, “No, uh— no, I knew she was here.”

“Hmmm.” Reid grins at him, and leans down the two or so inches to his eye level. Now they’re  _ both _ looking at Claire— and Eli, with her. She’s laughing at something he said, and he’s leaning against the wall. They don’t look like they’re blatantly flirting, really, but they also don’t look like they’re…  _ not _ flirting. Which could be discouraging for Cole to watch.

Maybe it’s time for Reid to play wingman.

“Do you like her?” he asks, and Cole scrambles.

“Reid, I barely—” He shakes his head again. “I mean, I barely know her. I think I’ve talked to her, like, three times.”

“Still, though.” Reid winks. “She’s nice, and she’s pretty. Three times is enough to catch a little crush—”

“ _ Dude _ .” Cole’s blush intensifies. “I don’t have a—”

“You should go and talk to her,” he suggests, before Cole can even finish, because he’s nothing if not an instigator.

Cole shakes his head for a  _ third _ time, like the very thought is enough to instill global terror. “I can’t,” he says, and gestures her way. “You see her. She’s talking to Eli. I can’t just, like— walk up.”

“You can if I go with you,” Reid points out, and Cole hides his face in his hand.

“ _ Reid _ ,” he whines. “Dude, I have, like— no game. My game is in the negative numbers. And you can’t just randomly go and interrupt a conversation—”

“Oh, please,” he says. “Randomly interrupting conversations is what I do best.” He scans the room, for some kind of distraction, some way he can pull Eli away from Claire, and—  _ bingo _ — finds it in Aoife Kelly, his music major friend, who must have just gotten here. She isn’t that far away from Claire and Eli, and he was chatting her up to Eli earlier. It’ll be a seamless transition. He can see it now. Before he kicks into full wingman mode, he puts his hand on Cole’s shoulder again. “Answer me one thing,” he says. “Do you  _ want _ to talk to Claire?”

“I mean.” Cole’s blush hasn’t faded, but he averts his eyes for this, taking a second before he nods. “I  _ can’t _ , but— I mean, yeah. I do. But I can’t.”

“Sweet.” That’s all Reid needs. “Then come with me.”

“What?” Cole says, and tries to protest, but Reid grabs the sleeve of his sweater, and pulls him along as they make a beeline back into the crowd.

*

One truth about Reid Burke that Claire knows well: you hear him before you see him.

It’s how she knows he’s walking up to her and Eli, before she can even pick his red suit out of the crowd. “Eli!” he’s calling. “My man!”

Eli glances over his shoulder, and Claire sees Reid at the same time he does. Reid has somebody in tow, trailing behind him, and it takes Claire a second to make out who it is. When Reid breaks through to reach them by the tree, he steps aside, to reveal a cute, bespectacled guy in a Hanukkah sweater. It’s Cole Kolinsky, one of the freshmen from the drama club. Claire knows he’s tight with Reid.

“First of all,” Reid says, gesturing dramatically to Cole, and talking directly to Eli, “I think I might have a prime candidate to fill your pit guitarist opening.”

“Oh,  _ word _ !” Eli says, and looks to Cole. “Dude, I forgot you played guitar! You should totally join us. Our guitarist last year was a senior; we could really use to fill her spot.”

“Oh, uh— cool.” Cole pushes his hair, thin and light-brown, out of his face. His mannerisms are awkward, in a way that’s kind of endearing. “I don’t, uh— I mean, I’m not that good? But—”

“Aw, BS,” Reid says, and punches Cole’s shoulder lightly, with a laugh. “Don’t sell yourself short, Coley; I’ve heard you play.”

Cole moves his hand to the back of his neck. “Uh,” he says, and shrugs. “I dunno. But I am— uh, I am interested. In playing for the pit.” He directs this at Eli, and fiddles with the hem at the bottom of his sweater. It’s baggy on him, and he has it tucked into the front of his jeans, which is cuter than it should be. “If I make it past auditions.”

“Dude, I’m sure you’d hold your own in auditions,” Eli assures him. “You’re a freshman, right?” When Cole nods, Eli tells him, “That’s good. That’s great, actually. The director really likes student participation.”

“I did it in high school,” Cole says. “For, uh, a couple of winter musicals.”

“Groovy.” Eli Fisher is the only person who can pull off saying ‘groovy’ unironically. Through and through, he’s a jazz musician. “I’ll put you on the email list!”

“Oh.” Cole brightens, and a ghost of a smile appears on his face. It’s yet another cute, awkward mannerism, and Claire is surprised by how cute it turns out to be. “Thank you,” he says.

“Don’t mention it!” Eli gives him a fist-bump, which is successful, even though it looks like it takes Cole a second before he realizes what Eli wants him to do. 

“Look at that.” Reid is watching the conversation with his hand over his heart, like a proud mom. “My favorite frosh is growing up, right before my eyes.”

Cole blushes, and hides his face in his hand. Claire is—  _ really _ surprised by how cute he seems all of a sudden. Even with Eli standing right here.

Parties. They’re a world of opportunity.

“Also, second thing,” Reid says, talking to Eli again. “You know Aoife, that girl I told you about earlier? She just showed up.” Reid raises his eyebrows kind of suggestively, then tilts his head in the direction of the front door. “ _ Soooo _ , if you wouldn’t mind saying hello…”

Eli laughs, and straightens his plaid tie. “Is this the marching band chick?”

“You bet your ass it is, brother.” Reid finger-guns him, then holds out his arm. “Shall we?”

“Sure,” Eli says, and links arms with Reid. Over his shoulder, he waves at Claire, who feels like she should be more offended than she turns out to be that Eli is leaving to talk to another girl. “Hey, I’ll catch you later, Claire! And you, too, Cole— watch out and I’ll send you a pit email!”

“Okay,” she calls, and waves after him. At the end of the day, Eli Fisher is what he is— a friendly person, whose attention she isn’t entitled to. She’s done way too much lamenting over boys this semester to get hung up on whether or not he’s talking to her at a party. Sure, he’s cute, but there are plenty of cute guys in the world.

Including, surprisingly, the one she just got left with by the Christmas tree.

“Uh,” says Cole Kolinsky, at peak endearing awkwardness. He puts his hands in his pockets; he’s wearing ripped jeans. “Hi. Sorry.”

Claire leans against the wall again. This time, she does it right, and doesn’t stumble. “Why are you sorry?”

“I, uh…” Cole hesitates, then shakes his head, like he’s trying to shake himself out. “I don’t know,” he says, and then leans on the wall next to her. “But I’m, uh— I’m Cole, by the way.”

“I know who you are,” she replies, laughing only gently. “We’ve met before.”

“No, I— I know we have.” He shakes his head again. “Sorry. I just— uh, I wasn’t sure if you remembered.”

“I remembered,” she assures him, and tries a smile. “I like your sweater.”

“Oh, uh— thanks. Thank you.” He tugs at the hem again, and looks sheepish when he adds, “It’s not mine. Uh— it’s Jake’s, I mean. Jake Reisman. He lent it to me.”

“Because he’s in a suit?” she replies, looking briefly over at the back of Jake’s blue Hanukkah-print jacket. He’s still in the kitchen, cleaning the plate that he served his latkes on, which must mean they’re all gone.

“I guess, yeah.” Cole pauses, and then adds, speaking quickly, “I am actually Jewish, though.”

“That’s cool.” Claire is pretty sure she knew that, but that’s okay. “Did you get a latke?”

“Yeah, uh—” Cole laughs, out of nowhere, and his face reddens further. “I just ate three of them, actually. In a row.”

For some reason, the sound of his laugh gives her butterflies. She ducks her head and dusts her skirt off, like it’ll stop her from blushing. “That sounds like a good decision.”

“I, uh— like your hat, by the way.” Cole points to his own head, which is hatless, at the moment. Claire has seen him wear the same green beanie to three separate drama club meetings. She realizes, as this thought comes to her, that she’s noticed Cole a lot more than she previously thought. “I saw Ellie and Fiona,” he adds. “Do you guys, uh, do you match on purpose?”

Claire nods, and fixes said hat, so it’s resting just slightly tiled to the right on her head. “Yeah, we do,” she says. “They’re my roommates.”

“Oh,” Cole says, and nods, then goes back to fidgeting with his sweater hem. “Uh, right. I think— uh, I think I knew that, actually.”

Claire can almost  _ see _ how awkward he feels. She wants to fix it— to lessen whatever about this experience is causing it. She hopes it isn’t her, because honestly? She would like to keep talking to him. So she hunts for a topic of conversation, and finds it when she spots Eli making some redheaded girl laugh across the room. “Hey, so,” she says, turning back to Cole. “It’s cool that you’re gonna play in pit. You’re… a music major, right?”

Cole nods. This seems to pique his interest, and his small smile returns, which—  _ wow _ , yeah, he’s cute. He’s really cute. He he always been this cute? “Yeah, I am,” he replies. “Don’t you play flute?”

“Yes!” She tucks a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. “I’m doing pit, too.” It’s a decision she makes completely on the fly, but once it’s out in the air, she knows somehow that she made the right one. “That’s what I was talking to Eli about just now, actually.”

Cole’s smile gets a little bigger. “That’s cool,” he says. “I guess we’ll, uh— I guess we’ll be seeing more of each other.”

Claire’s butterflies come back in full force. “I guess we will,” she replies.

There’s something about this boy that’s striking just the right chord.

*

Cole isn’t sure he’s ever felt more awkward in his life, but he’s trying so,  _ so _ hard not to let it show. Claire is one of the nicest people he’s met on this campus, even in their few and far between conversations from the course of the semester, and tonight is no different. She looks pretty—  _ so _ pretty— in her Christmas getup, and she makes conversation with him like it’s easy, like it’s nothing.

It’s far from nothing, though. He feels lit up on the inside, like a fricking strand of holiday lights. “So remind me,” Claire says, as she leans against Reid’s wall. “You’re from… Rhode Island, right?”

“Uh, yeah.” He nods. “I’m from Providence. And you’re…” He racks his brain. He knows this. She said when she introduced herself, at the first drama club meeting. She and Ellie are the only sophomores on the club board. “Wait, you’re from  _ here _ , right?” he tries, and crosses his metaphorical fingers. “As in New Hampshire?”

“Yeah!” Claire smiles brightly, and he might melt into the carpeted apartment floor. “I’m from Hollis, New Hampshire, which is  _ juuuust _ about an hour southwest of here. We’re right on the border with Massachusetts.”

“Oh, cool,” he says. He’s doing this. He’s holding an actual conversation with Claire Deshaies, and not dying! “I don’t, uh— I don’t think I’ve ever been out that way.”

“It’s rural,” she says. “If it helps you visualize, my neighbors have chickens and goats running around, and my summer job is at a farm stand.”

“Oh, uh, wow. Yeah.” He fixes his glasses. “That’s rural.” So eloquent, Cole. “So do you, like— uh, what do you do? At the farm stand.”

“I’m technically a cashier,” she replies, “but I do a lot of counting produce. And helping people plan their gardens.” She fixes the hat she’s wearing. Her dark-brown hair is sort of bob style, and she keeps pushing it out of her face. “When I go home for break, though, it’ll be Christmas trees. And wreaths. And stuff like that.”

“Oh, uh, nice.” He pauses, then, very unhelpfully, says, “I don’t, uh, I don’t think I could do that. I don’t know a lot about gardens. Or Christmas.” He glances to the Christmas tree they’re standing next to, and tugs one of its branches, which is plastic. There’s a blue and gold glass ornament hanging off of it. “For example,” he says, “this is probably the most up close and personal I’ve been with a Christmas tree in, uh, at least awhile.”

Claire laughs. It’s a nice laugh— and not the kind where someone is laughing at you, but the helpful kind, where they’re letting you think even for a fleeting moment that you aren’t a socially awkward, miserable excuse for a human being. Her cheeks are just a little pink, or maybe that’s the lighting in the apartment. Cole could roll with that laugh, with that smile. He could get her stuck in his head like a good song.

“Okay!” calls the disembodied voice of Reid, amplified at a weird volume, like he’s speaking through a mic. It takes Cole a second to locate him, but he finds him standing on the coffee table. He  _ does _ have a mic; it’s corded, and the music from Eli’s party playlist has stopped. “I have an important announcement to make,” Reid says, as the party sort of quiets around him. “We finally figured out how to use the karaoke machine,” he says, “so I can now invite you all to partake in that if you so please.”

Cole watches Claire laugh again, into her hand this time. “Oh my gosh,” she mumbles.

“I’d like to kick this show off,” Reid adds, “and to do that, I need to ask someone to join me.”

Momentarily, Cole’s stomach does a somersault.  _ Oh, no.  _ If Reid asks him to do karaoke right now, he may actually have to kill him. The panic only lasts a second, though, because Reid summons someone else instead. “Has anyone seen my extremely sexy roommate?”

A laugh passes through the crowd, as does various heckling, all directed at Jhiron. “I hate you, Reid,” comes Jhiron’s response from over by the couch, where Cole spots him talking to Ezra.

“I love you, too,” Reid replies, “and also, do you want to sing with me?”

“Not even a little,” Jhiron says, without missing a beat.

“ _ Jhironnnnn _ ,” Reid whines. “I’m calling upon my Christmas wish.”

“You’ve had, like, three of those already,” Jhiron tells him, and continues to protest— but his words don’t line up with what he actually does, because after just a little more heckling, he proceeds to walk over and join Reid at the table. That’s kind of Reid and Jhiron’s entire friendship, or at least as far as Cole can tell. They’re best friends, but they pretend to hate each other. Or at least Jhiron pretends to hate Reid, while Reid is his usual self.

“See, I told you he loves me,” Cole hears Reid say, and can’t figure out who it’s directed at. He’s too busy watching Claire laugh— she’s a captive audience, which it’s hard not to be when Reid starts doing typical Reid things. She breaks away to look at him for a second, and raises both eyebrows.

“I’m scared,” she says. “Do you know what they’re gonna sing?”

“I have no idea,” he replies, but he only has to wait another second to find out, because before he can fully process what’s happening, Reid has roped Jhiron into a duet of “Baby, It’s Cold Outside” that’s equally hilarious and terrible.

In this moment, Cole is grateful for Reid— for a lot of reasons, but right now, for the fact that he provided this distraction— maybe unwittingly, but provided it nonetheless— which means that Cole, for the moment, doesn’t have to struggle to figure out what to talk to Claire about. This will generate  _ plenty  _ of conversational ammunition after the fact, and maybe that way, Cole won’t have to fumble for his words, wanting to die.

“ _ This evening has been _ —” Reid tries to blow a stone-faced Jhiron a kiss. “ _ So very nice… _ ”

So Cole watches, and laughs. Reid is a ham, and Jhiron looks like he would rather die right now. But it’s almost more entertaining to watch  _ Claire _ , watching them. She has her hand over her face, and she’s almost doubled over. At one point, she takes out her phone, records them briefly, and then tucks it away like she’s storing it for safekeeping. Her cheeks are flushed red, and all the room’s lights reflect in her eyes.

Cole doesn’t even register that he’s barely watching the karaoke spectacle.

*

Reid is in his glory.

He steps off the table, his makeshift karaoke stage, and takes a mock bow in response to applause from onlookers. “Hey,” he tells Jhiron, his reluctant duet partner in crime, as he slings an arm around his shoulders. “I love you, man.”

Jhiron rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling, the fantastic bastard. “I’m never doing that again,” he replies.

“Once is enough,” Reid assures him, patting the lapel of his purple Kwanzaa jacket. “I’ll hold it dear in my memory for all eternity.”

Jhiron laughs, which is a nice sound to hear from your stoic best friend. “Okay, man,” he says. “Whatever you say.”

Someone else takes over the karaoke machine— two girls want to bring some Mariah Carey to this party, and good for them— and Reid makes his way back to Bri. When he sees her, in her sweater dress, with her wavy hair all over the place and this huge, amused smile on her face, he marvels at the fact that she somehow got even more beautiful in the five minutes he was standing on the table. He spreads out his arms as he approaches her. “How’d I do?”

“That was great,” Bri laughs, and grabs his face to give him a kiss, which, by the way, is a better thing to receive than any Christmas gift. When they pull away, she stays close, so he holds her by the waist and tips his forehead against hers.

“We should dance,” he tells her. He’s fully aware that he’s a little more than buzzed, but he knows his tolerance enough to know he’s not  _ completely _ gone. There’s a level of drinking where you have a good time, and that’s exactly where Reid has gotten himself tonight.

Bri laughs again. Her hand is still on his cheek. “To bad Mariah Carey karaoke?”

“Babe,” he says. “It’s bold of you to assume that I can’t break it down to Mariah Carey.”

“Oh, no,” she says, with a knowing chuckle, “I believe you.” She rests her free hand on his chest, and meets his eyes. He sways them, just a little, off the beat of the song the girls are singing, and Bri lowers her voice a little to add, “By the way, I think you started something.”

“Started something?” he echoes, and registers that Bri is looking somewhere beyond his shoulder. He looks that way, too, but can’t figure out what she’s looking at through the crowd.

“Yeah,” she replies, and leans her cheek against his shoulder. She points this time, and aims their lines of sight in the same direction. Bri is smiling, and sounds amused. “You left those two by themselves.”

_ Now _ Reid sees— he follows her pointing hand right to the back of Cole, who’s easy to see thanks to the sweater he borrowed from Jake, and once Reid sees him, he sees Claire, too. They’re standing right where they left them by the tree, and if Reid didn’t know Cole better, he’d almost say they’re  _ flirting _ — or at least having an awkward, middle-school-crush like conversation. Claire is all red in the face, smiling at him, laughing every couple of conversational beats. Reid can’t see Cole’s face from the way he’s standing, but he’s fidgeting a lot, and twisting his hands behind his back.

God, Reid is honestly such a genius sometimes.

“Would you look at that,” he says, wrapping his arms around Bri. “The youth are canoodling.”

“I don’t know if that counts as canoodling,” Bri replies. “But it’s definitely something.”

He laughs. “Go, Coley, though! Like, right? He’s totally into her! And it looks like she’s, like…” He watches as Claire laughs at something, and Cole does this little hunch over, like he, too, is laughing, but doing in that very awkward way that only Cole Kolinsky can pull off. “She’s  _ digging _ it,” Reid says, and jostles Bri in his arms just a little. “ _ Babe _ ! I might’ve just created a love connection!”

“Mmm.” Bri nods, wisely. She tugs just gently at his tie, and then pats it down so it’s sitting correctly against his chest. His jacket is long since discarded, and he’s rolled his sleeves up. “You’re the love doctor.”

He watches Cole and Claire for a second more, then looks down to Bri and arches an eyebrow at her. “Do you need some loving?” he asks, in a low voice, trying to balance the line between funny and sexy— and probably failing, but that’s okay. Bri has never minded that he’s a disaster excuse for a human being. He doesn’t deserve her, and never will.

She looks up at him for a second, and he’s getting completely lost in how fucking  _ lucky _ he is while she pretends to think on it. Finally, she tells him, “Not right now.” She tugs at his tie to take him down for a kiss, and when they pull away, she adds, “But maybe later,” and winks.

“Oh,” he remarks, squeezing her at the waist. “I  _ see _ .”

Bri smiles, and then lets him go, so she’s pulling him just by the hand. “C’mon,” she says. “I want another drink.”

Reid is the luckiest guy in this whole entire world.

*

Claire isn’t sure, at all, how long she’s been talking to Cole Kolinsky— until Ellie shows up.

She would blame losing track of time on alcohol, except she doesn’t even drink, so she can’t. She just feels like that’s a common excuse for getting caught in a conversation with a very cute guy at a party. Actually, if she were more in tune with the college party lifestyle, this night probably would have gone differently. She’d have made out with Cole or something. It would be a lie to say that she would be  _ opposed _ to kissing Cole— but she feels like that’s a pretty premature thought to be having given that tonight is definitely the only real, thorough conversation they’ve ever had.

All she knows is that eventually, Ellie shows up. And that’s when she realizes quite how long it’s been. “Claire,” she hears, over her shoulder, and she stops abruptly in the middle of telling Cole a high school band story to glance around for the source of the sound. She finds it in Ellie, with Fiona at her side; they’ve both appeared out of nowhere, on the other side of the Christmas tree. “We’re gonna go back,” Ellie calls, over the still-steady party noise, and Eli’s playlist, which has been rolling since the karaoke died down who knows how long ago. Right now, it’s the Muppet Christmas version of Jingle Bell Rock. “Do you wanna come?”

“Go back?” Claire echoes, and squints at both of them. “What time is it?”

Ellie waves her phone at her— and Claire startles; it’s nearly midnight. The party has died down a  _ little _ , but there are very much still people here.

“Um,” she says, eloquently, and then turns to Cole, who has retreated into his awkward-but-still-cute self at the appearance of Ellie and Fiona. Claire has been admiring the way he lights up when he talks about music for the past, well— almost three hours, apparently.  _ Wow _ . Time flies when you’re talking to a very cute boy. “You guys are— leaving?” she asks them, and Ellie nods, slowly, like she thinks Claire might be under the influence.

“Yes,” she says. “You don’t have to come, but we’re going.”

“Oh.” She pauses, and then fixes her hair under her elf hat. She looks from Cole to Ellie, and hesitates. “Uh— okay, well—” she says, to Cole, “I guess my roommates are going—”

“You should go,” Cole says, in a hurry, and then rushes even more with his next words. “I mean— uh, not that I want you to go. But if you want to call it a night— uh, it was good talking to you.” He pushes his glasses up with his knuckle. “Um, I’m glad we— uh, I’m glad I could—”

“Cole,” she says, and smiles at him. “Is it okay if I text you later?”

“Text me?” he says, and his eyes widen a little. “I mean— yeah, yes— for sure, but, uh, do you even— have my number?”

She nods, and pats the pocket of her skirt, where her phone is— despite the fact that she hasn’t touched it the entire time she’s been here. Except to record Reid and Jhiron singing earlier. Much earlier, apparently. “We’re both in the club group chat,” she tells him.

Cole’s face is red again. He’s maybe the cutest boy she’s met on this campus. Actually, he  _ definitely _ is.

“Okay,” Cole says, his voice very faint against the noise, and then he smiles. “Uh, that sounds great.”

“Cool.” She smiles right back at him, and ignores the drill of Ellie’s eyes into the back of her skull, catalogues that she’s going to get made fun of the  _ moment _ they leave this apartment. “I’ll see you later, then,” she says to Cole.

He waves. Three hours talking, and she’s completely gone. “Bye, Claire.”

She looks back at him only once, as she leaves with Ellie and Fiona. He’s looking her way, and she can’t help it— she smiles and waves again, and he averts his eyes, but she can see his blush and his smile, and— wow. Okay. She did not plan for this tonight.

She guesses Ellie was right all along.

But she has to pay the price. In the form of teasing. The second they leave Duffy Hall, Ellie whirls around on her and cries, “ _ Cole Kolinsky _ ?!”

Claire smacks her wrist. “He’s  _ cute _ !”

Ellie laughs wildly. “You looked like kids crushing on each other at recess!”

“You are  _ such _ a jerk.” Claire knows she’s still blushing. She might continue blushing for the foreseeable future, now. She thinks she might not mind blushing, over him. “I hate you,” she tells Ellie.

“Lies. All lies.” Ellie folds her arms, and stares her down. It’s cold outside, and Claire can still see the windows of Reid’s apartment lit up.

Those guys know how to throw a party.

“You’re telling us the details,” Ellie demands.

Claire rolls her eyes, but knows she’s smiling. “I was gonna tell you anyway,” she replies, and proceeds to gush about him to her heart’s content.

*

Cole should probably go.

It’s not that the party is  _ over _ , but he feels like it’s come to a close for him. There are less people here than there were at the peak of the action, and people are clearing— including Claire and her friends. He stands by the Christmas tree, and does some people-watching, while he reels internally and processes the last couple of hours.

He just  _ talked _ to  _ Claire Deshaies _ . And survived the experience. And maybe flirted with her?

He’s all warm inside, and he’s confident it has nothing to do with the fact that it’s hot in the apartment right now.

He knows he should go. It’s past his bedtime— not that he really has a bedtime, but it’s around midnight, and that seems like a respectable time to go to sleep in an attempt to be a functional human being. He digs into his pocket for his phone and checks his texts. The group chat Reid made for the party has been active, because people were sending karaoke videos earlier, but the only other notification on Cole’s screen is from Mom.

_ iMessage _

_ Mom _

_ 8:45 PM _

_ Have fun and be safe. I’m here if you need to call. Love you <3 _

A little pang of guilt hits him somewhere; he wishes he saw that earlier. He doesn’t want to text her back at midnight, so he decides he’ll wait and call her in the morning. He puts his phone away, and takes a deep breath. He feels like he gained just the smallest bit of confidence tonight. It’s not a lot, but it’s something. It’s enough to make him think that tonight wasn’t a mistake. That it was a good idea to come here.

He smiles, as he leans against the wall. He can’t get Claire’s red-faced smile out of his head.

“ _ Coley _ !” He hears Reid before he spots him, and waves when he does. His suit jacket is off, and he has his sleeves rolled up. “Dude,” Reid says, and jogs through the lingering partygoers until he reaches him, to offer him a high five. “You fucking  _ legend _ ! I saw you over here talking to Claire!”

Cole laughs, and wonders if he’s still blushing. “We were just talking,” he replies.

“Yeah, sure you were, you casanova.” Reid claps his shoulder, and Cole is so grateful for the fact that he’s befriended him. “I saw you.” Reid makes the ‘I’m watching you’ hand signal with his pointer and middle finger. “I have eyes in the back of my head.”

“Right.” Cole nods, and slides his hands into his pockets. “I’m, uh. A master of seduction.”

Reid laughs, then leans against the wall next to him. “So what happened, though?” He folds his arms, and nods in the direction of the door. “I saw her leave.”

He shrugs. “I guess her friends wanted to,” he replies, and then can’t resist adding, “But she said she’d text me.”

“ _ Coleeeeeee _ !” Reid punches his shoulder a bunch of times, and he laughs, hunching over and pushing his hair back from his face. “Dude, you’re  _ in _ ! She’s into you, man. I could tell. I could see it.” He lets out a loud breath, then folds his arms again, like he’s trying to be serious. “Can I get you a drink, or something? Let’s celebrate!” He jabs his thumb over his shoulder, toward the door to his and Jhiron’s room. “We could actually smoke up, if you wanted. I have a joint in there.”

Cole is about to decline that offer. He’s smoked with Reid before— Reid is the one who introduced him to weed in the first place, earlier this semester— but he’s sort of gotten himself into the mindset that he’s about to leave. He even starts to shake his head, and tries to figure out a way to say no.

But then he thinks on it for a second. It’s midnight, sure. Midnight isn’t  _ that _ late, and Cole, if he’s being honest, is going to be riding the high of talking to Claire for that long for awhile. He might as well hang out with Reid, right? It’s the last Saturday of the semester, and he’s at a party, and Reid is his friend.

This is a good night. He doesn’t want it to end.

So when he opens his mouth to decline the offer, what comes out instead is, “Do your roommates care?”

“No,” Reid laughs, almost scoffing, but still smiling. “They could care less. Wait, is that a yes?”

“I mean…” Cole sweeps the room with his gaze, then shrugs. He’s in rare form, and he doesn’t want this night to be over yet. “Why not?”

“My  _ man _ !” Reid cries, and jumps away from the wall to give him a high five. “Okay, I’ll be right back,” he says. On his way to his room, walking backwards, he finger-guns him. “Don’t miss me!”

“I won’t,” Cole replies, and laughs. He checks his phone again while Reid is gone, and his stomach does some kind of acrobatic trick when he looks at the screen.

_ iMessage _

_ 12:13 AM _

_ Claire Deshaies _

_ I told you we already had each other’s numbers!😊 Thanks for a fun night! _

Cole puts his phone down, calmly. He puts it all the way back into his pocket, and then looks around to wonder if someone’s going to judge him, before he decides he doesn’t care.

He jumps up and down, and pumps his fists like crazy.

This night is an all-around  _ win _ .

*

The apartment clears around two in the morning.

The last guest to leave is technically Jazzy, but she takes Jhiron with her, and they go long after cleanup is over. Reid waves to them, from the couch, and calls, “I’ll miss you, Jhi!”

Jhiron laughs, on his way out the door. “Night, guys,” Jazzy says. “Thanks for the fun.”

“It was our pleasure,” Eli tells her, and raises his water bottle, as if toasting. “Godspeed, friends.”

“Use protection!” Reid yells, just before the door is shut, and Bri, who’s next to him on the couch, doubles over to laugh into his shoulder.

“You are such an asshole,” she tells him.

He kisses the top of her head. “I know,” he replies.

Jake flops down next to Eli on the other couch. “Holy fuck,” he breathes, and takes his glasses off to rub his eyes. “I am  _ wiped _ .”

“I think I’m half awake, half stoned right now,” Eli remarks. He runs his hands through his curly hair, then shakes himself out and sprawls onto Jake’s side. Which only lasts two seconds, because Jake jostles him away. “Get off me,” he says. “You’re stoner deadweight.”

“Yeah, but you’re so cuddly, Jakey.”

“Fuck  _ off _ , Eli.”

Reid tickles Bri’s shoulder, where his hand rests, since he has her halfway wrapped up in his arm. “Hey,” he whispers, and once he has her attention, he lowers his voice even more. “I love you.”

Bri rolls her eyes, right through a smile. “I love you, too,” she replies. “How drunk are you right now?”

“I’m not that drunk,” he assures her, which is, well— mostly true. He smiles at the apartment around them— well since cleaned up from the party, but still very decorated, and very festive. “I’m just in fun mode.”

“We throw a good fucking party,” Eli says.

“Amen to that, brother.” Reid grins at him. “Thanks for your superior choice in music.”

“Your choice in music is ass,” Jake cuts in.

“You’re ass,” Eli says, and sticks his tongue out at him.

“I think it might be past both your bedtimes,” Bri says. She pokes Reid in the chest to add, “And yours.”

“You wanna go to bed?” he asks her, and she takes a second before she shrugs.

“It sounds like a good place to be,” she says, and so, after a few more swapped words with half-asleep Jake and stoned Eli, they go.

He watches, and only feels a little hazy, as Bri shuts the door inside his bedroom. She slides out of her shoes, and smiles at him across the room as he leans on the edge of his mattress. “So,” he says, kicking his legs out a few times until his own shoes come off. “About that loving.”

Bri raises her eyebrows, and feigns ignorance. “Oh?”

“Babe.” He extends his arms, and waits for her to reach him before he pulls her up into his lap. “I just want you to know,” he says, “that you’re very beautiful, and also I love you.”

Bri sighs, and tosses her hair away from her shoulders, as she settles into his lap. He almost falls backwards, but notably stays upright. He hooks his arms around her waist, and waits for her to bust his ass. “Flattery,” she says. “It’ll get you everywhere.”

He flashes what he hopes is a cheeky smile. “I know,” he says, and then she’s kissing him, so the rest really  _ does _ fade to haze.

He doesn’t get to sleep until much later, but when he does, it’s warm and wrapped up with her under the covers, with the little lights of his mini Christmas tree shining out to the dark window. He has Stevie Wonder Christmas music stuck in his head, and he makes a note to text Cole in the morning.

His last thought, before sleep, is that he’s  _ very _ confident this is the best party Duff 3 has ever hosted. And even still, he’s confident they can top it next year.


	23. reid's festivus miracles!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 23 of 25 is text-post style, another cross-post from my Tumblr! Bear with me for this one. The 23rd of December is something of an anti-holiday, celebrated widely among 90s sitcom fans everywhere. You know that Reid would be all over that shit.  
> [PROMPT: Reid Burke would like to wish you a happy Festivus.](https://sincerelyreidburke.tumblr.com/post/638331291977351168/day-23-a-festivus-for-the-rest-of-us)

We’re going to have a text post today, because for all intents and purposes, it’s easier to describe what I’m about to write about as myself than to try to put it into a fic. At least this time around. We heard from Reid and friends [yesterday](https://sincerelyreidburke.tumblr.com/post/638244100710252544/day-22-a-party-reid-burke-style-friends-i), and we’re hearing from him again today. I’m going to focus mostly on what he does with his roommates, Jhiron, Jake, and Eli, to celebrate this particular occasion. We’ll get a little Bri in here too. And possibly the Burke children. (If you want to meet Reid and Bri’s kids, check [this fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27826648/chapters/68219082) out, from the beginning of the month.)

Anyway. On to the content. Let’s talk. The 23rd of December is something of an anti-holiday, celebrated widely among 90s sitcom fans everywhere. You know that Reid would be all over that shit.

This will require a little context. If you don’t know what Festivus is, here’s my abridged explanation: Festivus is a fake holiday, or at least it started out as a fake holiday, which [appears in an episode of _Seinfeld_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bR3S690EF2U). It’s basically a meme now, on and off television. You put up an aluminum pole instead of a tree, sit down to dinner with your family, and tell them all the ways they’ve disappointed you over the past year (a tradition known as the “Airing of the Grievances”). After dinner, you may also partake in the “Feats of Strength,” in which, basically, two members of the family wrestle until one pins the other.

Does that sound weird? Well, okay. It is weird. But I guess you kind of have to watch that episode of _Seinfeld_ to get it. [Here’s a link to read about Festivus on Wikipedia](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Festivus), if you’re interested.

Anyway. “Mel, what does this have to do with the 25 Days of Kiersey?” Known comedy fan Reid Clifford Burke loves himself some 90s sitcoms, and _Seinfeld_ is no exception. With this in mind, I know for a fact that Reid would ‘celebrate’ Festivus on the 23rd. He comes from a close-knit family with good senses of humor, so he probably has done this with his actual family (mom, dad, and three older sisters) from a young age. But I think Reid carries this tradition with him to college, and imparts it upon the men of Duffy Hall, Apartment 3.

Obvious setback: students aren’t on a college campus to gather on December 23rd. Reid’s solution: a virtual Festivus with his friends, over Skype. And also a pole in the Duffy apartment.

Why this is entertaining: first of all, it involves Reid. Second, because Festivus is, when done right, inherently funny. Here are some concepts to consider:

\- Reid getting to tell his friends the ways in which they’ve disappointed him over the past year

\- His friends returning the favor

\- Reid randomly bringing an aluminum pole up into the apartment while they’re doing their regularly scheduled decorating for the holidays

> [Junior year]
> 
> (Reid walks into the apartment with a pole)
> 
> Reid: Hey-ho!!!! Happy Festivus one and all!!!
> 
> Jake just trying to mind his business and plug in his electric menorah: What the actual fuck is that?
> 
> Reid: It’s a Festivus pole!!!!
> 
> Eli: _Yoooooooo_ , a Festivus for the rest of us!
> 
> Reid: _Exactly_!
> 
> Jake: Oh, like the fake holiday from Seinfeld?
> 
> Eli: It’s a _real_ holiday.
> 
> Reid: Thank you, Eli. You’re the only bitch in this apartment that respects me. (Looks around.) Where do you think I should put my pole?
> 
> Jake: The real question is where the fuck did you get a pole?
> 
> Reid: Don’t ask questions, Jakey.
> 
> Jhiron, probably sitting on the couch: (looks into the camera, unimpressed, as if he is on The Office)

\- Sadly, no wrestling if they’re Skyping, but I don’t put it past Reid to initiate the Feats of Strength at some other time to make up for the fact that he can’t do it in person with his friends on the 23rd.

\- Reid definitely does make his friends do some kind of Netflix Party-esque virtual group watch of that one episode of the show, on the 23rd, for the full effect. He probably also watches it with his family.

You may ask yourself if Bri gets to participate in this tradition, and the answer is she absolutely does. I actually think that Bri knows what Festivus is before she even dates Reid, because really, it’s the kind of pop culture thing that some people just know of.

> [Reid and Bri’s first holiday season together]
> 
> Bri: So you celebrate Christmas, right?
> 
> Reid: Yeah, I do.
> 
> Bri: Ah, okay. I do, too, but... (A total shot in the dark based on Reid’s general personality.) I thought you might be more of a Festivus guy.
> 
> Reid: ( _Oh my God, she’s the one_.) Actually, you’re absolutely right. Festivus is my favorite holiday.
> 
> Bri: _Right_. That’s what I thought. Do you have a pole?
> 
> Reid: (Dreamily.) I’ve always wanted one.
> 
> Bri: We should get one.
> 
> Reid, completely in love: Yes We Should.

When Reid and Bri have kids, I have a strong suspicion that they wind up doing it at home yearly. The Airing of the Grievances is where Bri gets to tell Reid that if he leaves dirty socks on the floor in the closet or forgets to make the bed in the morning one more time, he’s going to be sleeping on the floor, and where Reid’s daughters get to hash out their various sisterly beef. Everyone always has a little trouble thinking of grievances to air with Harry, their youngest kid and only son, because he’s sweet and unproblematic. Although Flo, their oldest child, always tells Reid and Bri they go too easy on him. (They probably do. Or at least Reid does. Reid is a sucker, and always the good cop to Bri’s bad cop in the parenting arrangement.)

Also, the Feats of Strength. In my household (this is Mel talking), it’s usually my two brothers against each other, but since Reid has only one son, and he’s also the only son in his parents’ family growing up, I don’t know that that would happen. He might try to wrestle his dad, but Reid doesn’t stand a chance against Certified Grill Dad Mr. Burke. Teenage Harry and Reid could probably do the Feats of Strength. But I’d honestly more like to see that take place among the men of Duff 3. Reid versus Jake: the epic smackdown of relatively tall, average-built men. Go!

And additionally, all day on the 23rd, Reid refers to literally anything that happens as “[another Festivus miracle](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fYi-99klXAs)!!!!!”

Festivus is a lovely time in which you get to air all your problems with your family, and then solve them through softcore violence. To finish the night, no matter if he’s with his parents’ family, the men of Duff 3, or his eventual own children, Reid always puts on that one episode of _Seinfeld_. It’s tradition.

Also, Famous Comedian Reid Burke definitely Tweets about it. If Jerry Seinfeld ever acknowledged him on Twitter, I think Reid would need 5-7 business days before he could be a functional human being again.

I just felt like you should all know that. Thanks for your time. Happy Festivus to all. See you tomorrow!


	24. nochebuena

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 24 of 25! In Mexican culture, and most other Latin American cultures as well, Christmas Eve, known as the Good Night or Nochebuena, is the biggest celebration of the Christmas season, surpassing even Christmas Day itself.  
> [PROMPT: For this ficlet, I’m taking you for a return into Nando’s backstory, but only about eight months before his arrival at Kiersey. We’ll look at the Christmas Eve of his senior year of high school here, and see some of his family members again, most notably his papa.](https://sincerelyreidburke.tumblr.com/post/638409968970792960/day-24-nochebuena-a-very-happy-christmas-eve-to)  
> An obvious trigger warning for this one: this ficlet is set within the period of time when Nando’s papa is sick with cancer. Not only that, but Nando does a good deal of ruminating on that very fact during what you’re about to read. If that may be triggering for you, you might want to skip out on this one.

_ Nando’s senior year of high school _

_ december 24th, 2017 _

Sebastián wants this to be a normal Christmas.

After all, Christmas— with all its associated festivities— is his favorite holiday, always has been. And he loves the way his family celebrates it; the Hernandez family goes  _ hard _ at the holidays, especially at Nochebuena. It’s tonight, the night before Christmas Day, that’s always his favorite of all. They all gather at someone’s house, cousins and aunts and uncles and immediate family all in one place; this year, Sebastián’s own parents are hosting, so he didn’t even have to leave home to celebrate. All night, they enjoy each other’s company, dancing and giving gifts and waiting for Midnight Mass, but most importantly, they  _ cook _ — for nearly the entire day, Papa and Tio occupy the kitchen, and they go straight on until dinnertime. The past few years, Sebastián, too, has gotten to help, working alongside them just like he does in the restaurant after school.

It’s tradition. It’s family. It’s supposed to be the same, year after year.

Sebastián doesn’t want this year to be any different.

It’s like there’s an elephant in the room— well, an elephant in the kitchen— and either everybody is ignoring it on purpose, or nobody cares. Sebastián guesses he’s being stupid about it. Papa is sick, and he’s gotten well used to that fact, has gotten over the denial and accepted it as truth, and him being sick isn’t going to magically disappear just because it’s Christmas.

Sebastián wonders if it’s only himself, thinking about it, if everyone else has somehow managed to block it out of their minds  _ because  _ it’s Christmas, and why would you think about  _ that _ on Christmas, even when it’s right here, staring you in the face in your own house—

It’s just… it hasn’t been a very easy year. But Sebastián can’t be selfish. That’s not what Christmas is about. So he’s in the kitchen, helping prep for dinner.

“Here, Sebastián.” Papa  _ seems _ okay. In good spirits, at least. With a pair of tongs, he pulls a hunk of fatty pork out of a big pot on the stove, and plops it down on a cutting board. “Could you trim this for me, please?”

“Sure!” Sebastián can do this— he can do all of this, all of the cooking, knows these recipes like the back of his hand. He wishes everything else could be as easy as the cooking.

While he trims the pork, he watches Papa in the corner of his eye. He and Tio work side-by-side, just like they do in the restaurant. They speak in low voices, discussing dinner plans. Sebastián feels a little left out, but he knows they don’t mean to leave him. He tries to insert himself anyway. “What time is everyone else coming?”

“Anytime now,” Papa replies, which, really, Sebastián knows. It’s right around sunset, and the kitchen smells of red pozole and green chile enchiladas. His grandparents will be here soon, and Tia Teresa will bring his cousins, and the house will be alive straight on until midnight. Sebastián takes a deep breath, and tries to just focus on the pork.

“Oy, men,” Mama calls, from out in the dining room, where she’s setting the dinner table. “Do you need any help with anything?”

“We’re doing good,” Papa replies.

“A drink would be nice,” Tio adds, and Sebastián hears Mama laugh.

“It’ll be a long night if you start drinking now, Gerry,” she says. Papa laughs at this, too, and Sebastián and Tio both pretend not to notice the wheezing sound he makes. Or maybe Tio doesn’t pretend not to notice, because he gives Papa this concerned look, but Papa is looking at the onion he’s dicing and not at Tio, so he doesn’t see it. Sebastián catches eye contact with Tio, and averts his own eyes in a hurry, like it might get him in trouble that he’s worried.

“Where did the girls run off to?” Papa murmurs, sliding his diced onion to the side 

“They’re getting dressed,” Sebastián tells him. He tries a little smile up in Papa’s direction, and he adds, “They told me they want to be extra fancy this year.”

Papa chuckles, and it’s a comforting sound. “Oh, did they?” he asks, and fixes the hat on his head. It’s this funny-looking brown scally cap; he bought it over the summer. “I know they’re excited about the dresses Mama got.”

Gabi and Rosa wear matching dresses every Nochebuena. This year, they have sparkly red skirts on them, kind of like tutus. “They are,” he replies, unhelpfully, then smiles to add, “Maybe I should wear my red shirt, and match with them.”

Papa grins again. “I think Mama would like that, for pictures.”

Sebastián takes a deep, hopefully steady breath, as he finishes trimming the pork, and lifts it carefully to slide it back into the pozole pot. It plops in with only a small splash, and he leans over the pot to stir it with a wooden spoon. The stew could use something, he knows, more of some spice— but he isn’t sure exactly what.

“Hm,” Papa says, unceremoniously, as Sebastián is in the middle of stirring. He looks over his shoulder to find him studying the oven. There’s no use in noticing, all over again, how pale Papa is right now, and how he’s wearing that hat to hide how sparse his hair is. But Sebastián notices it anyway. He  _ lives _ with Papa; he shouldn’t notice things like that, not after eight months of chemo. But it’s Christmas, and everything is different, and all he wants is for it to feel the same.

“You okay, Papa?” he tries, and Papa nods— he doesn’t look upset, despite the exhaustion in his features.

“I think I should check on the enchiladas,” Papa says, looking down at the oven door. “See if they should come out.”

Tio is stuffing tamales, but raises an eyebrow to Papa and nods to the oven. “You need help?”

“I’m okay,” Papa replies, and kneels to open the oven. He looks inside, lifts the foil with his pot holder, and then announces, “I think they’re done.”

“You sure you don’t need help?” Tio asks again. Papa shakes his head, and waves him off.

“I’ve got it,” he assures Tio, who shrugs and goes back to the tamales.

Oregano, Sebastián realizes. The pozole needs oregano. He opens the spice cabinet, and he’s spinning around the little turntable inside, searching the array of little jars, when Papa stumbles behind him.

“Whoa,  _ whoa _ —” Tio says, and when Sebastián turns, he watches Tio lunge to keep Papa steady, and save the tray of enchiladas at the same time. “I’ve got it, Ángel. I’ve got it.”

Sebastián holds the oregano to his chest, and steps toward Papa, as Tio places the enchilada tray carefully onto the counter. “Are you okay, Papa?”

“I’m fine, Sebastián.” He waves him off, and takes a long breath. Sebastián kneels to close the oven door, before anyone can get burned, and tries to catch Tio’s eye again as his stomach knots— but Tio is looking at Papa, too, so they’re both just standing there watching him. For all the wonderful smells in this kitchen right now, Sebastián feels sick.

“I’m fine,” Papa repeats, and meets his eyes this time, and Sebastián wonders whether or not he looks like he believes him. He gestures to the oregano in his hand. “Go on, you can put that in the pozole.”

“Well— okay,” Sebastián replies, after just standing there and staring too long, and he turns to shake the jar a few times into the pot. When he stirs it again, it smells perfect. It’s nearly enough to forget about Papa’s stumble, about how weak he looks, about the clear concern in Tio’s eyes.

But he doesn’t have to try and deflect their conversation from that— because all of a sudden, two sets of small steps clamber down the stairs, and he hears his sisters. “Papa, Papa! Look!”

Sebastián, too, looks over his shoulder, just in time to see a perfectly matching Gabi and Rosa round the corner. If Rosa weren’t wearing her glasses, it would be hard to tell them apart— at least if you aren’t their brother. “Do you like our dresses?” Gabi asks, and spins around in her tutu thing so it sparkles in the kitchen light.

“You both look very pretty,” Papa assures them, and leaves the stove to go see them. He kneels and makes like he’s going to lift the both of them, and then seems to realize he can’t do that, and just hugs them each instead. “Like a couple of princesses,” he adds, and both of the girls laugh, as they hang on him. Gabi and Rosa are glued to Papa, all of the time. “Did you show your mama?”

“No,” Rosa replies. “She told us to go get ready.”

“Tio?” Gabi calls. “When are Juana and Ana coming?”

“Soon,” Tio assures her. “Tia Teresa’s bringing them.” Their cousins, Tio’s kids, are pretty much Gabi and Rosa’s best friends. They see each other all the time, so they’re more like siblings; Sebastián knows that kind of feeling. His cousin Simón, Tio Óscar’s son, is in his year at school; they’ve been friends since they were born. That’s what he loves about his family— the lines between households blur, and everyone is happy together. It’s why he doesn’t want today to feel weird. It’s why he’s trying so hard to beat down all his reservations, all his worries, and all the rest.

Today is about family.

“Run on and show Mama,” Papa urges the girls. “And ask if she needs your help with anything okay?”

“We will!” Rosa promises, and they zip off to the dining room, a single unit. Twins are like that. It’s just like Tio and Papa.

“Ángel,” Tio says, all of a sudden, as Papa is approaching their working station again. “Could you help me get some stuff from the outside fridge?”

Papa nods, and rubs his hands together. “Lead the way.”

Sebastián looks between them. “Do you need help?”

“We’re okay, Sebastián,” Tio replies, and claps him on the shoulder on his way by. Sebastián watches them head for the door into the garage, and Tio looks over his shoulder to add, “Keep an eye on that pozole.”

Sebastián looks into the pan. The pozole is steaming, and won’t need any real work until they put the hominy in before they serve it. In fact, most of their cooking is coming to a close, because dinnertime is slowly approaching. ‘Keep an eye on the pozole,’ Sebastián knows, is a code word. It translates to ‘leave the adults alone.’

Alone in the kitchen now, Sebastián sighs. At least the pozole smells amazing. Everything does. It’ll taste fantastic, because dinner on Nochebuena is never not fantastic. He loves this— loves his family, loves holidays, loves cooking with Tio and his papa. He just wishes he could shake the sense of unease, the worry about Papa, the feeling that he has to hold onto every precious moment, because what if this Christmas is his last normal one—

No. Sebastián can’t think like that. He stirs the pozole, unnecessarily, and takes a deep breath. He can hear Rosa and Gabi in the other room with Mama; it sounds like she’s enlisted them to help set the table.

He intends to stay there, at the stove. He intends to do what Tio asked him to. He even looks to the tamales; Tio has abandoned them mid-wrap, and he starts to continue what he started— but then he hears them arguing in the garage.

It’s very, very faint. But he knows an argument between Papa and Tio when he hears one— they happen all the time, over small things in the kitchen at work, because they’re brothers, and they argue now and then; even twin brothers in their forties argue. Sebastián can’t hear what they’re saying— at least, not from the stove. He means to stay there. He means not to be nosy. But his antsy mind gets the better of him, and he’s already so fricking preoccupied— so he walks over to the door that leads to the garage.

“... don’t have to work so hard, Ángel,” Tio is saying. “Sebastián and I can handle it.”

“It isn’t about whether you can handle it,” Papa insists. “I want to help—”

“I know you  _ want _ to help,” Tio replies. “That’s not the point.”

“Then what is the point?”

“The point is you should rest!” Sebastián’s stomach knots, as he listens to the desperation, the concern in Tio’s voice. It mirrors what he saw in his eyes, during that brief moment of eye contact in the kitchen a minute ago. “There’s no need for you to be killing yourself—”

“Rest, on Nochebuena?”

“Ángel,  _ listen to me _ .”

“No, you listen to me.” Papa doesn’t sound  _ angry _ , not entirely, but he sounds so frustrated and tired that Sebastián wants to cry a little. “I’m perfectly fine; look at me. Look at me, Ger. I’m fine.” There’s a pause. “This is a holiday. This is family. Why is this year any different?”

Tio’s voice is lower, when he speaks again. “You know why, Ángel.”

“Well, I don’t want it to be,” Papa says. “I need this, Ger.” There’s another pause, and Sebastián’s stomach knots itself up even more. “I need this,” Papa repeats.

It’s quiet for a long time, then. Sebastián steps back from the door, and looks in the direction of the dining room, but Mama and his sisters can’t see him, and definitely can’t hear what’s going on in the garage. Sebastián should probably just go back to the stove. He knows he isn’t supposed to be hearing this. “Okay, Ángel,” Tio says, faintly. “I’ll be in in a second,” he says, and only a few seconds later, before Sebastián can go back to the stove, the door opens. He stumbles backwards, and his stomach acrobatics worsen when he finds himself face-to-face with Papa. Papa still looks exhausted, but he’s holding a tray covered with aluminum foil. It’s the ensalada de Nochebuena that they made earlier.

“Papa,” Sebastián stammers, and instantly regrets his decision to eavesdrop. Damn it, why does he have to be so  _ stupid _ ? “I— I didn’t—”

Papa exhales, and shakes his head. “It’s okay, Sebastián.”

He scrambles, still, overrun by the guilt, by his own complete and total stupidity. “I was just coming to ask what temperature the pozole should—”

“Sebastián.” Papa sets the tray down, on the kitchen table. “Look at me,” he says, and, very gently, takes him by the shoulders.

Sebastián swallows. He will not cry. There’s no need to cry. He’ll be a man. “Okay.”

“I know you’re all worried about me,” Papa says, still gentle. It occurs to Sebastián that he isn’t angry, and though he doesn’t deserve that patience, he’s grateful for it. “But Papa is okay, do you hear me?” he says. “I’m just fine. And I want you to stop worrying. Worry about Nochebuena instead. Worry about cooking together.”

He takes a deep breath. “Okay,” he says, because what else can he say? “I— I’m sorry, Papa.”

“It’s okay, Sebastián. It’s okay.” Sebastián hates this— doesn’t hate talking to Papa in general, but hates the fact that Papa is the one comforting him right now. He knows he isn’t the one who should be needing comfort. “I want to have a nice holiday, okay?” Papa says. “Forget the rest for me.” Sebastián tries so hard to hold eye contact with him, but looks down to the gold cross on Papa’s necklace when it gets too much, just for a second. It glints in the kitchen light. “Can you do that for your papa?”

“Yeah, I—” He lifts his eyes again. He cannot cry right now. He has to keep it together. It’s Christmas. “I can.”

“Good.” Papa doesn’t hesitate— he pulls him into a hug, a long and tight one. Sebastián holds on with all his might, and for once doesn’t focus on how much thinner Papa is, or how weak he seems. For now, he focuses on what’s important— the hug itself, the warmth, the comfort. He presses his face into his shoulder, and breathes in his smell, and tries to stay right here. Like this is all he needs. Like maybe, if he holds tight to Papa, he’ll never have to let go.

Papa exhales, long and steady, and Sebastián isn’t sure exactly how long it’s been before he says, “Now, come on.” He pulls back, and rests a hand on his back. He may be weak, but he still smiles. Sebastián has to keep sight of that. Together, they walk to the stove, as Papa tells him, “Let’s finish that pozole.”

The night gets better, from there.

Sebastián does his very, very best to heed Papa’s request, to make it a nice holiday. Most things about it are normal. He cooks side by side with Papa and Tio, and the family congregates as normal. Papa looks tired, but he still smiles, still tells stories to Gabi, Rosa, and the cousins, still dances with Mama out on the patio when Abuelo puts the villancicos on the radio. It’s a temperate, clear afternoon, and they have dinner, and Sebastián sits next to him at midnight Mass. In many ways, it very much is the normal Nochebuena Papa asked for.

Though Sebastián doesn’t know it, there are just over seven weeks left in Papa’s life. Later, after the holidays, he’ll begin to see it coming— but tonight, he sees nothing, won’t let himself entertain the thought. Papa asks him for a good holiday, and Sebastián must give that to him— as if his  _ own _ life depends on it. Every year, for the rest of Sebastiàn’s life, he’ll think back to this Christmas, to how much he didn’t know, how much he chose not to think of, this warm December night.

He’ll be grateful for this. He’ll know he made the right decision, trying his best for Papa.

This Nochebuena, Sebastián stays close. He won’t let Papa down.


	25. daybreak

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 25 of 25! Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.  
> [PROMPT: Here’s some Quindo future-fic, in which you’ll see their first Christmas with all three of their kids.](https://sincerelyreidburke.tumblr.com/post/638512146204016641/and-finally-day-25)

_ ten years after graduation _

_ december 25th, 2032 _

For the first time since he was a teenager, Sebastián is not the first person in his house to be awake on Christmas morning.

He intends to be. He’s an early riser by nature, and on normal mornings, workdays and schooldays or even weekends and days off, he’s always the first one up in the house— and usually by sort of a good stretch of time, too. He always gets up first on Christmas morning, for the reason of being a natural early riser— but also so he can get a start on coffee and breakfast, and rest in the small hours of the morning before a busy family day.

This year, something is different. Actually, this year, a  _ lot _ of things are different, even from the start of the holiday season. Though ‘Christmas with children’ has been a fact for him and Quinn since they adopted Violet, more than five years ago now, their family has grown by two since last Christmas. The day in June when they brought Mia and Max home feels like a lifetime ago, since so much about their family has changed— for the better— since then.

So their household has grown, and so, in turn, has Christmas. There are more gifts under the tree, two more small seats at the dinner table at Mama’s house on Nochebuena. Sebastián knows, even before Christmas morning dawns, that Christmas will be better than ever before now. Because their family is complete now.

_ That’s _ a good kind of different. And that’s why he doesn’t mind, even though it marks a change in Christmas routine, when he wakes to a light but persistent tug of a small hand on his pillowcase.

“Papa,” a small voice is saying. “Papa!”

Sebastián opens his eyes. He may be an early riser, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t take him a minute to actually be awake once his sleep has ended. His bedroom is dark, and the culprit of his awakening is a small figure next to his bed, with her wavy hair in two braids, and Christmas printed PJs to match her brother and sister’s.

“Papa,” Mia repeats, as she seems to see he’s actually awake now. Her voice is relatively quiet, although it’s not like it matters— she won’t wake Quinn, who’s pressed against Sebastián’s other side, dead asleep as always. Talking to Quinn won’t wake him, of course— but stomping all over the floor usually will. Mia is more in danger of waking Max— who’s wrapped up and safely dozing between them in bed, thanks to restless baby syndrome striking at two o’clock last night— than of waking her dad. “Papa, wake up!”

Sebastián blinks, and shifts gently from his back onto his side, to face Mia next to the bed. “Hey,  _ mijita _ ,” he whispers, and clears his throat. “ _ Feliz navidad _ .”

Mia switches all the way to Spanish, which just makes her excited speech get faster. “I think Santa came!” she says, and bounces on the balls of her feet. “I think he knew we were here somehow!”

“Oh?” Sebastián smiles. A state of being awake is dawning upon him. There’s only a hint of pink dawn coming through their bedroom window, which means it’s probably right around sunrise. He sits up onto his elbows, and asks Mia, “What makes you think that?”

“He left a candy cane by my pillow.” Mia brandishes the cane, to show him. She looks ready to burst with excitement, and she’s close enough to make out the huge smile on her face in the low light. “And one near Maxi’s crib!”

“ _ Wow _ !” Sebastián whispers, and smiles harder. He takes the candy cane from her outstretched hand. “You guys must have been good this year.”

“Can we get up?” she asks, still bouncing. She leans her hands on the edge of the mattress. “Can we get up and see if he brought presents?”

“Hm…” Sebastián glances to his other side, where it looks like the sleepy, snuggly Quinn and Max are far from naturally waking. Violet’s in her room, and she’s known for getting up  _ sort of _ early on Christmas, but the late night at Nochebuena mass always hits her hard. Mia, Sebastián guesses, is too excited to sleep. He can’t blame her at all. This is her and Max’s first real Christmas.

He looks back to her and tries to deliver the news as gently as possible. “I think your daddy and Max might want to sleep a little longer.”

Mia face-plants into the mattress. “Awwww,” she grumbles. “But it’s Christmas!”

“I know,  _ mija _ .” He smooths her hair, which is, miraculously, still intact in the overnight braids, at least for the most part. “You could come up and lay with us, if you wanted. Maybe sleep a little more?”

“I can’t sleep,” Mia protests. She looks up, and she’s sort of frowning, not in the way where you know child tears are inevitable but just in a frustrated kind of excitement. “I’m all filled up with energy.”

Sebastián hums, with a smile, and nods. “I know the feeling, Mi,” he says. “I’m the same way on Christmas. Here.” He holds his arms out for her. “Just lay with Papa for a couple of minutes. Then I’ll wake up Daddy and Max.”

Mia grumbles a little, but complies, and he scoops her up to tuck her between him and Quinn in bed. With Max wedged there, too, and Pippin curled into a furry ball by Quinn’s feet, purring contentedly in a state of kitty zen, it’s a dog and an eight-year-old away from being a family snuggle pile. Their bed is big, but this tests its limits. Sebastián will literally never mind the tight squeeze, ever in his life.

Mia hides her face in his t-shirt. He has plaid Christmas pajama pants, but the shirt is plain red; meanwhile, Quinn goes all out, with a button-down that matches his flannels. Quinn has been making Christmas pajamas for years; this year, he was in his glory making three matching sets for the kids. The ones on his person currently are from a couple of years ago; he cycles through a few good, trusty pairs. All of them match with his cream-colored bathrobe, because Quinn is, even in his pajamas, the most style-conscious person Sebastián will ever know.

He smooths Mia’s hair, and kisses the top of her head as she snuggles in. “Did you see if your sister was up?” he asks, even though he thinks he already knows the answer to that.

Mia shakes her head. “She’s asleep,” she replies, and then pops her head up, with more of that kid-on-Christmas-morning adrenaline. “Should I go wake her up?”

“Not yet,  _ niña _ ,” he eases. “We can wait to let her sleep a little more, and then if she’s not up, we’ll go get her, okay?”

“Okay.” Mia pauses, and then looks to Max, who’s now right next to her in the snuggle pile arrangement. His curls are everywhere, and his onesie is in the same pattern as her PJs. She pokes his belly, gently, and complains, “Sleepyhead.”

“ _ Shhhh _ , Mi.” He eases her away from the temptation of instigating Max, and rolls her carefully by the shoulder so she’s facing him instead. He rubs her shoulder, which is so narrow and little it fits in his palm, and asks, “What do you think Santa brought for you?”

“I don’t know,” Mia replies, “but I hope it’s that Isabella doll!”

Sebastián smiles. Isabella is the main character from Mia’s favorite cartoon, and his insider knowledge says she’ll be happy when she finds the doll under the tree. “Maybe he did,” he tells her. “Do you think they make Isabella dolls at Santa’s workshop?”

“I hope so!” Mia bounces on the mattress a little, which apparently disturbs Pippin. He stands up at the edge of the mattress, does a huge stretch, and then jumps off the bed and leaves the room. Probably to go terrorize Dante. Pip and Dante have a playful rivalry with each other, like a cat and dog in any classic cartoon. Or, really, Dante wants to be Pip’s best friend, and Pip likes to swat him in the face without warning when Dante is sniffing Pip’s tail.

Mia sits upright in bed, then, because there’s only so much you can contain a five-year-old on Christmas, he guesses. “Should we go look?”

“ _ Nena _ ,” Sebastián whispers, coaxing her back down into his arms, “we have to wait for everyone else to get up.”

But he speaks too soon— because right as he says that, he sees Quinn move next to him. He shifts the way he’s laying against him, and then brings his hand up to his face, dragging it gently across his eyes and then combing back his strawberry hair. He makes no noise, but does look up at them, and a sleepy smile crosses his face. There’s a bit more light in the bedroom now; the sun must be in the middle of rising.

Quinn looks beautiful. He always does, and always will. In the Christmas morning light, with their kids piled into bed, he’s the only sight Sebastián ever needs.

Sebastián smiles down at him, then tells Mia, “I guess you woke Daddy up.”

“Oops,” Mia giggles, pressing her face into his shoulder.

_ Merry Christmas, baby _ , he signs, and Quinn rubs his eyes again, then takes Max carefully into his arms before he sits up. Max is still asleep, but Sebastián isn’t sure how much longer that will last. And honestly, that’s fine. It’s Christmas, anyway. The sun is coming up.

Quinn sits halfway up, then reaches for Mia’s shoulder to tap it three times— a little reminder of love, when his hands are too full of baby to sign— before he kisses Mia’s forehead. “Merry Christmas,” he whispers, in his small, non-listening voice.

Mia looks up to Sebastián, and tugs on his shirt. “Should I get Daddy his ears?”

Sebastián consults Quinn, and arches an eyebrow as he points to his own ear. “Do you want…” he starts, enunciating clearly, but Quinn shakes his head, with a smile, and passes Max over to him so that he can talk to Mia.

Max is getting heavy, but that’s a very good thing. Sebastián bobs him gently in his arms, as Quinn and Mia talk— their hands move quickly, and Sebastián could probably tell what they were saying if he weren’t looking at Max instead. Max’s chubby little hand curls against his shoulder, but his eyes don’t open. Sebastián kisses his temple.

“Daddy says we can go see the tree,” Mia announces, suddenly, and Sebastián laughs. He lifts Max, and raises an eyebrow— now  _ he’s _ the one with his hands full, and can’t talk to Quinn.

_ I told her we could go if Violet was ready, _ Quinn explains, with a shrug and a cheeky smile.  _ She’s excited _ .

Excited is an understatement. Sebastián nods, and holds Max’s head to his shoulder. If they do want to get up, they may as well. “You wanna go check on Vi, Mia?”

Mia doesn’t need to be told twice. “Yeah!” she cries, and nearly flies out of bed, then races to the door and swings herself around the corner. Her steps are loud when she races down the hall to Violet’s room; if Quinn weren’t already awake, that would definitely have done the trick.

Sebastián chuckles, as he looks back to his husband. “Hi,” he says.

_ Merry Christmas _ , Quinn replies, with the cutest, most freckly, most barely-awake smile Sebastián has ever seen. He leans in and kisses him gently over the top of Max’s curly head, and Quinn presses his palm, warm and soft, to the side of Sebastián’s face. He brushes his thumb across his cheek when they pull away, and Sebastián lets out a long breath, forehead-to-forehead with him. He kisses him one more time, for good measure.

This  _ is _ the best Christmas morning yet. And it’s barely started.

“Mia’s ready,” he says, still trying hard to make his words clear. He doesn’t want to brag, but fourteen years with Quinn has made him something of an expert in Deaf communication methods.

Quinn laughs, and nods generously.  _ How long ago did she wake you up? _

He shakes his head, to try to symbolize a short time, and holds his free hand up with all his fingers spread. “Five minutes,” he says.

_ Well, it isn’t the earliest she could be up _ , Quinn says, and then shrugs a little.

“I’m surprised…” he replies, and then nods his head to the sleeping baby in his arms. His gestures are enough, because it seems like Quinn understands the sentiment— that he’s surprised Max isn’t awake yet.

_ Don’t say that _ , Quinn says, with a teasing smile.  _ Now he’ll wake up. _

That might be true, but Max will be awake soon anyway. He needs to be, for when they go to the tree and  _ really _ start the day.

“Vi’s ready!” comes Mia’s fully energized, triumphant voice from the hall, and there’s more patter of feet before she reappears in the doorway— this time trailing her sister by the sleeve. Vi looks a  _ little _ sleepy, but she’s smiling, and she waves.

“Merry Christmas,” she says, and signs it at the same time. “I found a candy cane by my bed!”

_ Oh, my goodness _ , Quinn says.  _ Santa must have come. _

Mia and Violet share a joint celebration, with a lot of high-pitched excitement, at the prospect of Santa, and Sebastián turns his head to Quinn to raise his eyebrows. They’ve lasted out their time in bed for the morning— it’s clear it’s time for Christmas Day to begin. Max’s head is lolling against his shoulder, as if to prove it.

He tips his head to the bedroom door, but says nothing. He doesn’t need to; Quinn understands. He nods, and swings his legs off the other end of the bed.

It’s time.

“Okay,” Sebastián says, as he stands up. “Just give us two minutes to get ready, and then we’ll go.”

“ _ Yes _ !” Mia cries, and high-fives Violet. Max squirms a little more in Sebastián’s arms, and he knows the sleepy baby gig is up.

“Girls,” Quinn says, at full voice now with his ears in, as he walks around the side of the bed, “why don’t you go make your beds while you wait for Papa and I?”

“Okay!” Mia, once again, needs no repetition of the suggestion. “C’mon, Vi, hurry!” She grabs her sister by her sleeve again, and they dash off down the hall together.

Sebastián laughs, as they go. He bounces Max gently in his arms, and smiles when Quinn walks up next to him and hooks his arms around his waist. “You want me to take him, honey?”

Sebastián wraps an arm around Quinn’s shoulders, and shakes his head. “I’ve got him.”

Max flaps a hand, very gently, against Sebastián’s chest. When he rolls his head into his sight line, his eyes, big and dark brown, are wide open.

“Good  _ morning _ , Max,” Quinn whispers, in the perfect baby voice. He strokes his cheek, and then kisses his forehead. The adoration in Quinn’s haze when he looks at their kids is one of so many reasons Sebastián falls more in love with him every day. “Merry Christmas.”

Sebastián gives Max a good squeeze. “You ready to see what Santa brought you?”

Max babbles, wordlessly, and though it’s baby nonsense, it’s a sure sign he’s content. Sebastián smiles. “Somebody’s happy,” Quinn hums, rubbing a hand on his waist just under his t-shirt.

“Mm,” Sebastián replies, with a nod, and then a yawn catches him out of nowhere. “ _ Oof _ ,” he laughs. “Looks like Papa’s still kind of tired.”

“Poor Papa,” Quinn murmurs, and kisses his cheek before he walks over to the back of their bedroom door, where he retrieved his bathrobe. When he throws it over his shoulders, and pulls on a pair of handmade socks from the dresser, his Christmas morning look is truly complete. All he needs is his mug of tea and a good spot on the couch. Sebastián is so, so in love with the way he looks on any morning, but Christmas morning is especially a source of soft in his chest.

Quinn flashes a thumbs-up, when he turns back around, bathrobe sash flying to the side like the train of a fancy gown. “Just have to brush my teeth,” he says, with a bright smile, and then calls over his shoulder. “We’ll go in two minutes, okay?”

“Got it!” It’s Vi’s voice that replies this time. Maybe Mia already combusted in her excitement.

Sebastián looks to Max, as Quinn flits off to the bathroom. “What do you think,  _ gordo _ ?” he asks him. “Should Papa get ready?”

Max babbles again. Sebastián grins, and squeezes him tight. “Yeah, I think so too.”

When they actually reach the tree, only a couple minutes later, Sebastián doesn’t sit on the couch right away. Quinn does— he settles into his regular spot at the corner, not yet armed with the tea mug, but soon to be, given that Sebastián just turned his kettle on on the stove. Mia and Violet, once given the green light, waste absolutely no time in getting to the presents.

Sebastián, just at the edge of the couch, takes a second to pause, to take in the view. Quinn is leaning his cheek into his hand, with the cutest, most smug smile of a dad on Christmas who got his kids the gifts he said he wasn’t sure about. Pippin, the true king is the house, is perched on the top of the couch behind Quinn, with his back arched, surveying the scene with mild feline disinterest. Mia and Vi are going crazy, because they got told they could, and in the excitement, Dante is with them, wagging his tail and sniffing under the tree. “Dante,” Quinn laughs, snapping at his own feet. “Come here, boy. Don’t trample the presents.” It takes Dante a second, but he does listen. Max, still in his arms, babbles about the puppy.

The tree is sort of sparkling, with its tinsel garland, colored lights, and various ornaments. The light through the windows is pink and orange, thanks to a beautiful sunrise just beyond them. Sebastián waits, for longer than he realizes. He could just watch this for a long time. His family, all in one place, complete and whole, on Christmas morning.

Quinn turns over the back of the couch, and beckons for him. “You coming, Papa?” he asks. The sunlight catches in his hair.

_ Wow _ .

Sebastián is the richest, luckiest man in the world.

“Yeah,” Sebastián replies, and smiles. “I’m coming.” He walks around the side of the couch, takes his seat next to his husband, and lets Christmas Day begin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, and hanging out with me for this festive month! I’ve had a lot of fun writing these 25 installments. See you in my next work!

**Author's Note:**

> [Come hang out](https://sincerelyreidburke.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr!


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